Life with Lisbon
by Sue Shay
Summary: COMPLETE! It starts with having to buy a suit, a landmark event in Patrick Jane's new life evolving around CBI Agent Lisbon. M for explicit sex.
1. Red Dawn - Suit Buying

**I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload.**

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His first respectable job. It was impossible not to think of it that way.

All of Patrick Jane's life had been a confidence game in one form or another. He'd done it from boyhood, working the carnival circuit with his dad, all the way through his adulthood, setting himself up as an all-seeing psychic. Although he worked – sometimes hard – to pull off his cons, it wasn't what society liked to call 'gainful employment'. Now however he had been actually _hired_ as a consultant for the Serious Crimes Unit of the California Bureau of Investigation. Not for having paranormal abilities but for having a brain.

He got the job because he'd solved a difficult case involving a judge and a cop. The irony was not lost on him. A grifter like him bringing down corrupt law enforcement! It was practically comical.

Or it would have been if it weren't for the fact that murder was involved. Instead of feeling amused, he felt… victorious. Even inspired. Maybe it didn't bring his wife's killer to justice, but it brought vindication to his own heart. This was something he could do!

He pulled into the parking lot of the men's clothing store and stared through his windshield, watching shoppers going in and out the door. It was strange to think of buying a suit again. It was weirder still that he was buying off the rack. His last suit was from the best tailor in L.A., a men's clothier to the likes of George Clooney and Pierce Brosnan. Back then he was rolling in dough, some of which always went to keeping up his appearance as a psychic showman. Armani suits with matching silk handkerchief and tie, Italian footwear, personal grooming honed to perfection… it was a luxurious life and he loved it.

Now he'd have to check to see if the pinstripes lined up at the seams and the lapels were sewn evenly.

Frankly he was broke. It wasn't a state of financial affairs he was comfortable with. Oh, there was money with his name on it, tied up in his Malibu home and a couple of IRAs and annuities. Plus several off-shore accounts of shell-within-shell companies that he couldn't touch yet without tipping off the feds.

Hell, there was even the college savings fund he and his wife had started for their precious daughter Charlotte, just in case something happened to her parents. He swallowed hard at the thought. Someday he'd have to close that account.

He leaned back in the car seat and sighed. It wasn't easy to be Patrick Jane at the moment. After spending months rebuilding his sanity while locked in a psychiatric ward, he was still having problems getting his feet back under him. The world was a confusing kaleidoscope of colors and noises that he couldn't process completely. Never in all his life had he felt like the _mark_ instead of the operator.

Spinning his wedding band on the ring finger of his left hand, he glanced at the flashes it made in the early evening sun. He'd read some nonsense once about widows and widowers removing their rings after a year. As far as he was concerned, he was still married, and his ring was staying right where it was.

Again he turned it on his finger like it was a talisman. The need for prayer wasn't in Patrick Jane's weltanschauung, but occasionally he needed someone to talk to. The only person who'd ever truly listened to him without regard for personal gain was his wife. He wasn't about to let her death stop him from continuing to speak with her.

_Angela, I'm doing this for you. If I'm going to avenge your murder by killing Red John, I need help. I think I found it in Agent Teresa Lisbon of the California Bureau of Investigations._

Then he shrugged. _Yes, she's a cop, and you know I don't do well with cops. But Ang? I really think you'd like her if you met her. She has a good heart, I can tell. She showed me how to take who I am and make a real difference in the world. I'm hoping maybe she and I can even be friends._

The ring was turning warmer with his handling, making him think all the more about the warmth he once shared with his beautiful wife. It was starting to feel like she was there with him spinning the simple metal that encircled the path to his heart.

_I love you, Angela._

Heaving a sigh, he climbed out of the car and entered the store. Time for a new life.

_**TBC... Jane saves Lisbon**_


	2. Red John's Footsteps - Choosing Life

**I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload.**

* * *

Patrick Jane was pissed. Lisbon was supposed to wait.

Damn that woman sometimes. He couldn't remember the last person who was as fucking stubborn! They agreed to take down Dumar Hardy _after_ Red John showed up and then capture them together.

She was supposed to _wait_!

He rolled his eyes again when he thought about her passionately spoken words

_Can't you see there are people who care about you? Who need you?_

Yeah, right. He couldn't believe she'd tried to use such sap on him. By now she should know better. After all, if anyone could know him, it would be her. They had grown remarkably close, considering she was a cop. Maybe the world needed a wonderful person like her, but nobody cared about a shiftless con artist like him. He certainly didn't need anybody. Did she still take him for some kind of mark?

Well, he was willing to be a dead mark, so long as they got Red John and ended his murderous crime spree.

Still, she was right. They'd saved a life that day. A young woman who could go back to her family and live into old age, the chance his daughter Charlotte would never get.

He paced the room, occasionally glancing up at the surveillance cameras that Red John had used to watch everything that happened. Forensics techs were wandering around the room, removing anything that could be used as evidence, dusting for prints, generally going through the motions. They wouldn't find anything. This was Red John! Why were they bothering? Waste of tax-payers' dollars.

Angrily he climbed the stairs to exit the cellar. Before him was the room Red John had locked himself in while watching the video feed. _He had been right there._ Dammit, dammit, dammit!

He didn't know how long he stood there, staring into the room. Taking a deep breath, he tried to steady his roiling emotions and suppress the trembling in his limbs. He twisted his wedding band a few times and the familiar warmth enveloped him.

_Go get some fresh air. You need to be outside._

He smiled slightly at the memory of Angela's voice whenever she could feel his tension about a hard day. She always said the same thing. And she was right because she knew him more than he did himself. The wind in his hair, the sun on his face…it always made him feel better.

Too bad it was dark outside. He desperately needed the sunshine to drive the cold ache from his soul.

With a resigned sigh, he shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and turned to follow an evidence tech carrying the rifle Hardy had been holding on him before Lisbon showed up to take the crazy sheriff down. He stopped on the porch, watching the usual third stage of any crime scene: the aftermath. The controlled chaos of people doing their jobs with intensity. Police photographers using flash to capture images out of the dark night. Technicians in Tyvek coveralls combing the area for anything that could be used in court. The perpetrator in the back of a squad car to be taken in for questioning.

Or in this case, Hardy's unconscious body on the gurney waiting to be loaded in the ambulance and transported to the hospital.

A little voice in his head nagged at him. There should be guards on Hardy, the man who was going to lead them to Red John. He was the only one in custody who could.

Closer to Jane, Lisbon stood with the victim Maya Plaskett, asking gentle questions, offering reassurance that everything would be fine.

That was something she was good at that, he thought. She was five feet four inches of tough, badass female cop, but half of her entire being was taken up with a woman's heart so full of compassion she could be her very own charity organization.

She _was_ her own charity. Hadn't she taken him in as a homeless waif and put up with his bullshit from time to time? Truly, it was unfair to accuse her of thinking of him as a mark – even internally like he had. Her selfless actions had brought him out of a dark place, the one he inhabited when they first met more than a year ago. Her faith in him was healing. Yes, Angela would have approved of their friendship.

_Patrick! PATRICK!_

It happened so fast, he didn't even think about it.

Hardy was loose! He shot a highway patrolman with the officer's own gun. He pointed it at Lisbon! Before she could move, there was a loud retort, and Hardy was gurgling blood from his mouth, falling to the ground.

Jane's nostrils filled with sulfur and his hands buzzed from the shock of firing the rifle that was in his grasp. He was shaking like a frightened child. He didn't know quite how Hardy's rifle got in his hands but he threw it away immediately. Then he crossed to Hardy and fell to his knees, swallowing hard at the bile tainting the back of his throat.

It wasn't supposed to happen this way. Hardy was supposed to be brought to justice!

But Teresa Lisbon wasn't supposed to be shot dead either. Patrick Jane made his choice. It was life. _Her_ life.

* * *

**TBC...Blood for Blood - Letting Go**


	3. Blood for Blood - Letting Go

**SPOILER ALERT: If you haven't seen "Blood For Blood" (03x14) from Season 3, you probably shouldn't read this chapter. I mean, serious spoiler alert. Total and complete giveaway of the ending for the episode.**

**I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload.**

* * *

"You just witnessed a beautiful thing," Patrick Jane said to the befuddled officer behind the admissions counter at Carlisle Juvenile Hall.

There was a skip in his step as he hurried to catch up to Teresa Lisbon. She and Trina DeGeorge were almost back to the nondescript black CBI vehicle that had brought them.

_Lisbon didn't do it! She didn't turn that poor unfortunate girl over to the authorities!_

It had been hard to watch the internal battle within Lisbon as she and Jane drove the young girl to juvie hall. He repeatedly offered his bottle of water to her because he was worried about how much hard swallowing she was doing.

Understanding the reason for her discomfort was easy. She'd told him herself, although she didn't know it.

_"_For God's sake, Lisbon. The girl's father was an abuser_,_" he'd tried to argue.

"So was mine! I didn't shoot him!"

The venom in her voice was crisp and definable. She had _wanted_ to. Even at thirteen she had understood 'justifiable cause'. Trina had been in a similar situation and successfully defended herself, just as Lisbon would have if not for the overwhelming responsibility of caring for her three brothers. On the level of a deeply buried thirteen-year-old Child-Lisbon looking out of Adult-Lisbon, it seemed so blatantly unfair. The law said Adult-Lisbon had to take Trina to jail, but she looked at Trina as a bit of a hero for doing what she had wished she could have done. The adult looked back at the thirteen-year-old and realized her brothers might have been better off in foster care, even needing the death of her father in order to have a better life.

But now the whole situation could play out properly, vicariously through Trina.

"Damn it! Why did she confess?"Lisbon asked in agony.

Doubt flashed in her eyes when Jane answered. "Because she's a good person."

Jane feared he hadn't gotten through to her, especially when she wouldn't talk to him, only Trina, during the entire drive to Carlisle.

But now they were taking Trina back to her Aunt Jodie, and by Jane's thinking, they all experienced a little bit of growth to their souls or gain on their karma or whatever system of retribution or payback processing it should be called. They were better people.

Best of all, he understood Lisbon just a little bit more, watching her struggle with demons beyond her control. He knew she wasn't perfect, and now she had exposed her inner battle against the inequity in the world. It seemed like a turning point in their relationship.

Either that or, as Minelli had put it years before, she had finally drunk the Jane-flavored Kool-Aid.

Angela would be proud either way.

* * *

**TBC: Strawberries and Cream - Purely Selfish Act of Love**


	4. Strawberries&Cream - Selfish Acts of Lo

**I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload.**

**The full title of this Chapter is "****Strawberries and Cream - Purely Selfish Act of Love". **

* * *

Jane couldn't wait anything longer.

He considered himself a patient man when it came to running a con. Some things needed time to stew in order to get the maximum results. If he wanted something to blossom, he first had to wait for it to grow.

Right now, however, he wasn't waiting on a flower. He was waiting on bureaucracy. The Desk Jockeys. The Man.

_Lisbon will know what's going on. I'll go ask her._

Setting his tea on the counter of the break room, he strode toward Lisbon's office. The blinds were closed but the lights were on. It appeared she was there but working on something. Well, no matter. It probably wasn't as important as the reason for which Alan Dinkler was blown up. He'd just go in.

"Lisbon, any word on that list-?"

She was standing in the space before her desk, trying to reach something over her bare shoulder. She spun around at the sound of his voice.

"Geez, Jane! You mind knocking?"

The impact of her presence knocked the wind from his lungs. God, she was stunning!

Angry, yes. _Very_ angry.

But also very beautiful.

She must have picked up the bride's maid gown for Van Pelt's wedding, because she was dressed in a manner he'd never seen before. Her hair was up in a loose bun to get it out of the way, although there was little chance of it interfering with the low-slung, strapless gown. Against the pink satin fabric, the ivory mounds that marked the top of her breasts peeked tantalizing and healthy before flowing gracefully into her toned shoulders and long, smooth neck. Her fair skin was as soft and white as the ribbon-belt around her waist. Although she was not a tall woman, the delicate long lines of the dress made her look as statuesque and elegant as a queen. Absolutely glorious.

When he manipulated Van Pelt into asking her to stand up for the wedding, this was exactly what he hoped it would produce. His tough-as-nails Teresa Lisbon transformed even temporarily into a delicate rose.

For a moment he was speechless at the sight of her. Glib words that usually flowed freely now choked behind rebellious lips that wanted nothing more than to kiss the vision of loveliness before him.

She tugged upward at the top of the bodice and shifted in the gown, like it was a hair shirt scratching into her skin. Mentally she was stamping her feet, he could tell. She wanted nothing more than to dissolve into a puff of smoke and disappear into the HVAC system. He could read her discomfort as though it was written out before him.

And here he thought he'd have to wait until the wedding to see her dressed like this! During the ceremony and reception, she would have tucked away her embarrassment and discomfort, her friendship and empathy for Grace not allowing her to mar the bride's special day. But somehow it was more precious to see her writhing with embarrassment and anger.

Goading her could only enhance his pleasure. Something about the opportunity to be an ass made his brain override the rest of his body's lustful demands, and he managed to start speaking. He called her an angry little princess whose tiara had been stolen. Then he admitted that for fun he's told Grace that Lisbon secretly wanted to be a bride's maid.

It was so very obvious that she knew whose fun they were talking about, that her embarrassment was a great source for his fun. But the look in her eye told him that he could never ever tell the truth. Her embarrassment was secondary, and Grace's special day was a distant third. The full truth? _He_ wanted to see her walk in beauty as a bride's maid.

Or a bride.

"Customer list," Cho said, entering the office. "From the Cash-In-Motion CDs."

_Ah! Rescue!_ Jane turned to Cho, grateful for the redirect in his thoughts. There was serious business to take care of. The list Alan Dinkler was killed over, for one thing.

Lisbon was visibly relieved that Cho didn't say anything about the gown other than noting that maybe she should change before going to the Max James crime scene. She seemed grateful that Cho had more control than Jane ever exhibited.

In reality, she never knew the extent of his personal self-control when it came to her.

Especially when she looked like that.

* * *

**TBC: Crimson Hat - Words of Weight**


	5. Crimson Hat - Words of Weight

**I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload.**

**I don't own the Eurythmics either. Their haunting song just suited the situation.**

Why? Why had he said it?

_Good luck, Teresa. Love you._

It just slipped out, like a distracted 'good morning' to someone passing in the hall. Not insincerely expressed, but definitely said without thought of the consequences.

Did he mean it? Yes, he did. He had known for a long while. His sleepless nights had two causes now: guilt about his responsibility for the death of his family and guilt about the growth of love for Lisbon.

But he was about to fake her murder! Did she need to hear it right then?

And he knew she _did_ hear it, but in the heat of the moment, there were other things to concentrate on – shooting her, arranging for a dead body to stand in for the very much alive Wayne Rigsby, smuggling him and the very much alive Lisbon out of the building, escaping the manhunt and the closed perimeter around CBI headquarters… Lots of other things to think about.

As they were switching to yet another vehicle to finish the drive to Vegas, a strange giggle escaped her. She grinned while examining her black shirt and bringing her blazer up to sniff at the lapel. He had been very careful not to hold the gun too close but no doubt she could still smell it, associating it with the firing of a gun. There was always powder discharge and percussion impact; even blanks were dangerous. They were real bullets with full loads of gunpowder but without the actual lead projectile. For all intents and purposes, it was deadly force.

For a moment he worried she was on the verge of becoming hysterical with the thought. It had been a very tough day.

"I've never been shot in the chest like that before," she grinned at him.

"Yes, well, congratulate me later for being your first," he said, tossing her overnight bag into the trunk of the car he'd 'acquired' and winking at her. He returned to the driver seat and climbed in.

"Why did you point the gun at me?" she asked, closing the passenger door with a gloved hand. "Couldn't you have just shot into the air?"

"Please, Lisbon, why would you worry about a thing like that?"

"Just curious."

From the back seat, Rigsby spoke up. "And where did you get a body that was shot in the face?"

Jane glanced in the mirror at the puzzled and slightly frightened Wayne Rigsby, grateful to the cover of night for hiding his own expression.

"Wayne, you truly don't wish to know. And keep your gloves on. We don't want to leave any fingerprints in this car. And don't spill any crumbs back there. They'll see a mess and immediately think 'Rigsby was here, eating again.' "

He started the car by connecting the wires bypassing the ignition and then put the vehicle in drive. Lisbon laughed again. "You _stole_ a car?"

"No, I hot-wired a car. It gives the rightful owners, with whom my relationship is completely unknown and untraceable, a plausible excuse to say they had nothing to do with it ending up in Vegas."

"But you know the owners? For certain?"

"Yes, of course I do" he answered her defensively. "She and her husband owe me a favor."

"It doesn't have anything to do with disposing of a body shot in the face, does it?" Rigsby asked from the back seat.

Jane ignored him.

"And it won't be insurance fraud," he said to Lisbon. "Their son is an auto mechanic who will put it back together good as new. When the vehicle is found abandoned, they'll just get it back as having been stolen. The devil is in the details, Lisbon."

"And that's why you shot me in the chest, right?"

"Exactly."

"To make it as accurate as possible."

She scoffed and turned on the radio. An 80s rock station. He wasn't a big fan of rock music in general, except maybe Buddy Holly and some of the later Beatles stuff. He especially disliked most of the 80s. It wasn't a good time for him… except for his first date with Angela in 1985, of course. That was a definite turning point in his life, a change to the better.

The Eurythmics came on, a song he knew of but wasn't overly familiar with. Lisbon started to sing along.

_ Time after time I tried to contact you_

_ And time after time I tried to talk to you_

_ But you don't take me to your heart_

She didn't have Annie Lennox's exceptional voice, but it was good. Very good. Her smoky alto tones entered his ear with seductive insinuation, more erotic than a strip-tease, caressing him without touching.

_When I'm alone, I think you're near me_

_It's good to pretend that you're with me_

_Why don't you take me to your heart?_

She harmonized beautifully with Annie Lennox's soulful longing, the blended richness reverberating down his back, making him shiver. The sweet little words which slipped from his mouth earlier that day almost escaped again.

_What the hell is wrong with me today? Now is not the time to even be considering this! We are so close to catching Red John! Declarations of love would be a distraction and—_

"I suppose I should be grateful," Lisbon said, breaking through his thoughts.

"And why is that, Teresa?" he asked, trying to keep the huskiness out of his voice.

"That you used blanks."

His jaw dropped and he stared at her a second.

"Well… to maintain accuracy," she said flatly. "Real bullets would have been appropriate."

Surely she was kidding, but he couldn't tell without seeing her face. He wanted to look at her but he also needed to keep an eye on the dark desert road. She sounded so serious!

In perfectly level tones she added. "You know… 'Cause the devil is in the details."

He was certain that he was doing a perfect goldfish impersonation because his mouth opened and closed a couple of times without producing words. The vision in his head was mortifying. He couldn't deal with the ghastly image of her taking three _real_ shots to the chest. Finally his brain overcame the shock in his heart.

"Well…considering we are faking your death, fake bullets seem in order. And to use real bullets would have required a bullet-proof vest and several broken ribs. Kinda hard for you to recover from quickly. A trip to the dry cleaner is _much_ easier."

"Very good point," she said. "And I don't want any additional pain… you know, from broken ribs."

Owch. Okay, they were no longer talking about the 'here and now', but instead the 'there and then'. That damned song! It put her back in the midst of his six-month disappearance without a word of reassurance. He'd internally minimized that aspect about a relationship – how easily women are hurt by issues of trust. It wasn't true that he didn't trust her, because he did. _Implicitly_. Unfortunately he also trusted that Red John would find out about his faking an emotional breakdown if he gave any indication to the contrary. Then all that work would be for nothing.

As it was, he had desperately attempted to keep Lisbon off Red John's radar. Asking for her dead body was indicative that breaking off ties with Teresa _had_ been for nothing. Maybe those six months spent missing her was just another subtle punishment by Red John. Maybe the sociopath was still five steps ahead of him, despite all his careful planning.

_No!_ He had to believe that he was keeping her safe. Suffering that extreme loneliness because he was bereft of her had to _mean_ something!

Damn it, he'd make it up to her. He wasn't sure how, but it would happen.

Holding the bottom of the steering wheel with his left hand, Jane reached over and twirled his ring, looking for reassurance from the familiar weight. He'd lost a few pounds during his six months in Vegas and the gold band was loose on his finger. The metal felt cold and distant. Another reminder of how the experience had changed him. First and the most disturbing change, he realized that he wasn't talking to Angela as much. Then he realized it didn't _feel_ right talking to her while thinking of Teresa Lisbon. Thirdly he realized he wasn't talking to Angela because he had wanted to talk _about_ Teresa, about how much she'd come to mean to him. Even he couldn't justify such twisted and self-serving illogic. It wasn't right.

The skin between his fingers suddenly hurt with a stinging pain. He jerked with the sharpness of it and felt around the edges of the gold band. There was a burr on the ring. He must have caught it on something and gouged the normally smooth surface, leaving it sharp.

"What's the matter?" Lisbon asked.

"What? What do you mean?"

"You sucked in your breath sharply, like you were in pain."

He released his ring and moved to rest his arm on the center console only to find her arm already there. He laid it down anyway and intertwined her fingers into his. It was surprising and pleasing that she let him. Not just let him but curled her fingers around his. There was nothing he'd felt in years that was as comfortable as holding her hand.

"Nothing," he whispered. "My ring hurt me."

The significance of his spoken words weren't lost in his own mind.

_Forgive me, Angela, but I can't be alone anymore._

Strangely, the ring felt warm again.

* * *

**TBC: Sanguinary - Red John's Death**


	6. Sanguinary –Red John's death

**I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload.**

* * *

It was a dark, moonless night.

He should have known. Any time he got close to the real Red John, it was a lightless room or dark cabin. The boarded up, old hotel which the copycat film-makers used was case in point. False leads and red herrings took place in the brightness of day. Timothy Carter in the food court at a mall was prime example.

Jane swallowed reflexively. He could taste the victory that waited just inside the doors of the mid-century modern house before him. The Red John disciple in their custody corroborated with testimony from an FBI informant. Then there was a positive ID from hidden home security of his last victim. _Red John had_ _made a mistake_. Jane recognized him as one of the 408 qualifying men with whom he had shaken hands since the murder of his family!

Cho and Van Pelt had followed Red John to where the killer lay in wait for his next victim but there was nothing they could do until the homeowner arrived. They also wanted Jane and Lisbon to be there before they went in. It was a close call; Boss had arrived barely a minute before the targeted victim. Lisbon immediately arranged to enter the house in the woman's stead. Jane argued against it, using as much logic as he could. Then he tried pleading. When that didn't work, he almost declared his feelings for her but stopped himself in time. It wouldn't change her mind and in the end would distract her when she needed to be at her sharpest. Helplessly he watched her don the victim's jacket and purse. Then she drove the victim's car into the driveway.

They'd get him this time. They had to, for Lisbon's sake.

_It's a stupid plan. _He fidgeted in the seat of the surveillance van. Rigsby, confined with Jane because of the walking cast on his ankle, placed his hand on Jane's arm to get him to stop shaking the vehicle._ Why the hell are they doing it this way?_

He watched her enter the house and turn on a table lamp. As the door closed, he threw up in his mouth a little while his blood pounded in his ears. Unbidden, the images of red smiley faces flashed through his brain, tied to the knowledge they were gleefully formed with Lisbon's blood.

_How could I let her go in there without telling her I love her? If something goes wrong, she'll never know how I truly feel!_

He couldn't allow it. Flinging the van door open, he ran across the lawn and past Cho and Van Pelt as they were getting into position.

"Jane!" Van Pelt yelled before Cho shushed her.

The front door flew open against the weight of his shoulder, just in time to see a dark hooded figure wrestling Teresa to the floor. Red John moved his arm in a grand, cutting sweep, the end flashing as light hit a curved blade. At the same time, blood sprayed and Lisbon's Glock 26 flew through the air, knocked away by Red John's swing. It landed at Patrick's feet. He scooped it up and fired the mighty weapon. Explosive recoil threw him backwards as though he'd fired a personal cannon. He bowled into Van Pelt who then fell into Cho, knocking them into the storm door and almost out of the house. Whatever he hit his head on was very hard. Stars filled his vision. Then everything went dark.

* * *

As he opened his eyes, the stars returned to his sight, flashing white, orange and red. Intense pain centered on a goose egg on the right side of his skull. He squinted, blinded by bright lights. Focusing was difficult but objects became clear enough to interpret. He was in an ambulance.

_Teresa!_

He leaped off the gurney and to his feet, knocking over an EMT in his rush for the back door. Jumping down to the street, he torqued his leg and collapsed in a useless heap. His head hit the ground, causing pain to a different part of his skull. More stars filled his vision mixing with the flashing lightbars on the top of numerous squad cars, but he remained conscious this time.

Someone grabbed him, helping him sit up. He put his hand to the most recent bump on his head and winced.

"Teresa…" he mumbled.

"I'm here, Jane."

His held breath released in a rush and he opened his eyes to look her. By the bright work lights on the back of the ambulance, he could see her frightened eyes, both red and glassy. There was dried blood and…gore… matted over the left side of her head, knotting in her hair like tangled flood debris. He reached up to touch it but she grabbed his arm, preventing it. Her forearms and hands were wrapped in gleaming white gauze speckled with bleed-through stains. Defensive wounds…

"What happened to the side of your head?" he asked. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes, Jane, I'm okay, but—"

"Where is Red John? Did we get him?"

Lisbon glanced up. Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt were standing in a circle around them, looking at him pitifully but also glancing around as if on guard. Despite the existence of Crime Scene Stage Three aftermath chaos, no one seemed to get close to their group.

"He got away?" He couldn't keep the anguish from his voice.

She took his head in her bandaged hands and stared at him. Those beautiful green eyes, sparkling like Mayan jade, looked happier than he had ever seen her.

"No, Patrick, you killed him," she whispered. "You blew his head off with your one shot. But you're a civilian, and you shot someone in the back of the skull."

She put her forehead to his, tears streaming down her face. "It will be hard to claim self-defense. Even though it's Red John, it's going to be a lot of legal troub—

"So tell them you shot him. Or Cho. I don't care. Just so long as he's really dead."

She smiled even more broadly and then she laughed the relieved laugh of someone who couldn't believe her ears.

"Did you think I would be bothered if I didn't get credit? Who cares? He's gone!"

Lisbon wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him to the right side of her head. He started to bring his hands up to caress her hair when he realized the gore all over her was remnants of Red John. He brought his hands back to her waist and wrapped his arms around her tightly, taking comfort from the warmth of his friend's closeness.

It was over.

Finally.

* * *

**Okay, so I'm cheating by not making a guess about who RJ is. I could have cheated and just said it is CBI Ron, right? But that's not the point of the story so I reserve the right to take the cowardly & lazy route by skimming right over that. :-)**


	7. Red Faced - Mister Charming

**I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload. **

* * *

_The next afternoon…_

Patrick Jane picked up his tea and wandered through the bullpen, glancing furtively at desktops as he passed. Death of a suspect generated a lot of paperwork, but when that suspect was Red John? Well, everyone from the Governor's office to the parking lot attendant wanted a report on it.

He didn't care what the reports actually said. He was just glad it was over. There was some underlying guilt about Cho having to visit the CBI mind-molder, getting examined for PTSD following lawful discharge of a firearm and for killing a suspect, but he told himself Cho would use the opportunity to learn additional interview techniques. It was all good.

When he'd looked forward to the day that the world would be free of Red John, he found one possible aspect that he dreaded; he'd be a wandering nobody again. He'd be as useless as the day he wandered into CBI, looking for a purpose. Back then he thought for certain that he'd look at the Red John files and maybe see one or two facts that eluded the police. Maybe he could do some good. Maybe he could find a way to get revenge for Charlotte and Angela's deaths.

It was now eleven years later and hundreds of cases solved, 90 percent of them having nothing to do with Red John. So what was he going to do with his life, now?

Spend eleven more years – or more – solving thousands of cases. One hundred percent of them would have _nothing_ to do with Red John. It was a wonderful feeling. He had truly made a difference.

As he approached Lisbon's office, he saw the blinds were open but there was someone with her.

LaRoche! What the hell was he doing in there? Every protective impulse in Jane's body surged into his muscles and he burst through the door.

"—Exemplary work of your te— " The Internal Affairs investigator stopped mid-word, staring at the CBI consultant as though Jane were tossing fried cheese in the air while wearing a giant grasshopper on his head.

Jane was used to that. It was one of LaRoche's more overused techniques – the hard study. In antipathy, he intentionally mispronounced the man's name and added an outrageous accent. "Mon Sewer In Speck Tour Lah Roe Chay!"

Lisbon glared not _just_ daggers at him but everything else in the weapons box that was sharp and pointed.

"Mr. Jane," LaRoche said solemnly. "I was just congratulating your boss for successfully bringing down Red John."

_Boss._

He'd let it slide just this once. Besides, it was just payback for mispronouncing the investigator's name in the first place.

"My… boss…has done a marvelous thing." He gave LaRoche a dazzling smile even though he knew it never worked on him. It merely served as a signal that the verbal scrap had begun. "And Cho is a first-rate marksman. Kudos to him for his expert shot."

The large, bald man leaned back in his seat, again trying the hard stare while thinking of his next words.

"You seem very happy, Mr. Jane."

Jane shoved his hands in his jacket pocket and bounced on the balls of his feet a bit before crossing to the sofa. He flung himself onto it, relaxing into the cushions which were well-versed in molding to his shape.

"It's a great time to be alive, Mr. LaRoche. Wouldn't you agree, Agent Lisbon?"

"Could be better." She smiled when she said it.

"Meh," he said. "You're an unnatural slave to paperwork, Lisbon. You really need to get out of this office."

LaRoche looked from Lisbon to Jane and back to Lisbon before rising to his feet.

"Well, I just wanted to congratulate you and your team again for doing it by the book."

He turned to leave but Jane raised his arm.

"What book would that be, Mr. LaRoche? Great Expectations? Don Quixote? Men Without Women?"

"All great novels, Mr. Jane." LaRoche smirked in sly amusement. "Have you read any of them?"

Jane sat up, staring at his sparring partner. "All of them, plus a couple more." He rose to his feet again and crossed the room until he was between but a little to the side of Lisbon and LaRoche. "And in keeping with that last title, I wanted to ask you a simple but direct question."

"Those are usually the best kind, Mr. Jane, although generally unexpected, coming from you."

Jane winked surreptitiously at Lisbon and then grinned again at LaRoche.

"My question is about the _CBI_ book. In the section about relationships between agents of the same unit, it states very clearly they are not allowed to date. Is that correct?"

"It very clearly states that, yes."

Jane glanced at Lisbon again. She looked leery and even a little worried.

"However, if a _consultant_ of the unit – a freelance independent, so to speak – wished to enjoy the company of the Senior Agent in Charge for dinner tonight and perhaps drinks afterward? Or a movie? Film Noir festival at the Old Vic Theatre?"

LaRoche stared at him, a smile slowly crawling onto his usually stoic face.

"The rules are strangely unclear about that scenario," he said softly. "In fact, consultants aren't mentioned. Shocking oversight, don't you think?" Then he started for the door. "I recommend Bertucci's over on Sixth. They have a wonderful atmosphere and excellent Pansotti alla genovese. And it's just a block down from the Vic." Over his shoulder, he tossed a bigger smile at Jane as he departed.

Jane turned his most charming smile at Lisbon only to find her with her forehead down on her desktop.

"Lisbon? Are you all right?"

A strangled, squeaky voice floated up from her.

"My God, Jane, aren't you ever embarrassed by your own behavior?"

"Embarrassed? Why would I be embarrassed? Did I not just now exhibit outstanding common sense by clarifying the rules of this prison with the Dungeon Master?"

She lifted her head and glared at him. Having run out of daggers and other sharp-edged things, she was evidently thinking of a way to glare with guns. Or maybe a cannon.

"And I showed good taste, of course."

Her jaw dropped open, her eyes widened. He continued.

"After all, the Sacramento Film Noir Festival is the place to be seen, if you have discriminating tastes."

It was priceless to see her face. As the shock melted away, it was replaced by confusion, then anger. She looked around for something to throw in her fury. He laughed gleefully and made a dash toward the door, pulling it closed behind him. After a few seconds, he slowly stuck his head back in.

Her face was tilted toward her desk, her skin flushed from her lower neck all the way to her forehead. She was also smiling in a stunned kind of way.

"Hey," he said softly. Then he grinned when she jumped at the sound of his voice. Her green eyes – opened wide like those of a startled deer – stared at him. "I made reservations for six o'clock at Antoine's, also over by the Old Vic. Is Italian okay?"

A sweet, pleased smile came to her gorgeous, trembling lips, and she nodded. "I'm looking forward to it."

He nodded gently in return and pulled his head back, feeling very pleased with himself. As he started for the break room to refresh his tea, he almost jumped in the air to kick his heels together.

_She _is_ looking forward to it, Patrick. And you should too. It will be perfect._

He stopped at the words, almost gasping. Then he rubbed his ear with the heel of his thumb.

_Angela?_

No, no, no, it couldn't be, although the voice was the same sweet tones he once jumped through hoops to hear.

He shook his head. Those two blows the day before were causing auditory hallucinations. Or were the hallucinations caused by guilt? Except he didn't feel guilty. He felt…

Reborn.

Taking a deep breath, he continued toward the break room. Time for tea. Then he stopped and glanced around before changing direction to head for the elevator. Tea later. Now was the time to find a good barber and a florist.

* * *

**TBC: Green Light to Red Light**


	8. Green Light to Red Light-Screeching Halt

**Green Light to Red Light – Screeching Halt**

* * *

_Two months later…_

"Good night, Patrick," Teresa said softly, taking Jane's hand in hers and squeezing.

He stared into Lisbon's eyes, marveling as usual at the internal light emanating from the depth of her heart. Every time he walked her to her door over the past couple of months, he couldn't help but take a moment to study the beauty he found there. It sustained him through the intense, lonely night that followed.

"Thank you for a wonderful evening, my dear."

His gaze dropped to her lips as she self-consciously licked them. Smoothly he moved closer to capture her honey-sweet mouth in a kiss meant to convey feelings he still couldn't bring himself to say.

_I love you, gentle lady. With all my heart I do._

She brought her hands up to the back of his neck and tilted her head slightly to enhance the contact between them. Her lips parted slightly and closed again before separating once again, as though wanting to devour his touch entirely. He knew he wanted to devour her. Her sweetness, her gentle affection, her strength…

Heaven on Earth, if he had believed in Heaven. She was the alpha and the omega of his world, and his feelings for her filled the space between very wide boundaries.

Then she pulled him closer and darted her tongue into his mouth, softly caressing his tongue. He closed his lips to her, pulling back like he did every time.

"Good night, sweet lady."

No doubt she was frustrated with him. He could see it in her eyes. It was bad enough that she suffered the aggravation of his behavior during their working life together, but now their standing Saturday night dates were a vexation as well. As predictable as a two-headed coin toss, he wouldn't – _couldn't_ – kiss her with the intimacy they both desired. She even stopped inviting him in for a nightcap because he consistently declined.

Her lips smiled gently while her eyes regarded him with sadness and longing. Slowly her hands traveled over his shoulders and down his shirt and waistcoat, coming to rest in the middle of his chest over his heart. He covered her hands with his own and smiled in return.

Abruptly she turned away. She was shaking as she dug her keys from her purse to open her door. As she passed into her apartment, she didn't look back. Before the door closed, he heard her sniffle. The deadbolt slid into place, locking him away from her.

Jane turned and returned to his car, a 1972 Lotus Elan, the Citroen having finally given up the ghost a month before. He started the ignition but sat in depressed stillness with his eyes on the dark dashboard and his hands holding tightly to the steering wheel. The low rumble of the engine's idle filled his ears until it faded into mere background.

Eleven years of the chase screeching to a halt. He expected ennui and boredom because of the sudden void in his drive, and even a little regret that it was all over, but he'd reconciled himself with most of it. But the rest of the world was all changing so quickly. The accolades, the interviews, all the attention that the team tried to avoid but couldn't because the demise of Red John was just too important. With his dreams filled with his own life after Red John and the satisfaction of avenging his family, Jane had never envisioned the effect it would have on the rest of the world.

Then word came down of promotions. Van Pelt joined the San Francisco office of the FBI, heading a team specializing in cyber-crime and identity theft. Rigsby was given his own CBI unit, fighting organized crime within the state of California. Cho took over the Serious Crimes Unit when Lisbon was promoted to director of the CBI Sacramento office. Leave it to the bureaucrats to break up a winning combination.

But Lisbon wouldn't stand in the way of her team. What cop ever stays with the unit he starts with, anyway? Good cops were ambitious; that's how they kept their edge.

The only person not to change much was Jane himself. Other than treating each new case with the intensity he once applied to chasing Red John, he was still the same impudent, cynical pain-in-the-ass he had always been. Now, however, he reported to Cho who occasionally loaned him out to other units if he could be of service.

Still, it was change, something he had been a fool to deny would happen. There was something to be said for living in a world that stayed the same.

Except that Red John would be alive again, and that was something that Jane would never want back. Change was the way of the world.

He gripped harder at the thought, his white knuckles in contrast to the dark steering wheel. He twisted his hands forward, and the parking lot lighting flashed on his ring. His gaze glued to it.

_Remove it, Patrick. It's time._

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep the voice out. He didn't want to hear it right now. It was bad enough that the words interrupted his sleep.

_It's past time._

As if without control of his own limbs, his right hand grabbed his left and wrested the wedding band off. It burned in his palm for a moment before becoming just another piece of cold, shiny metal. His stomach knotted as he glared at the gold circle. It seemed wrong. The ring shouldn't be anyplace but on his finger.

Now was not the time to be having a Lord of the Rings moment, but it seemed to be happening. If he put that ring back on, he _knew_ he'd never be able to remove it again.

But what to do with it?

He sighed and pulled out his wallet, tucking the simple piece of jewelry into the corner of the billfold compartment before putting the wallet back. He shut off the motor and exited the vehicle.

* * *

**TBC: Red Light to Green Light - Raring to Go**


	9. Red Light to Green Light-Raring to Go

**I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload. **

* * *

Lisbon opened after his second knock, not surprised to see him, no doubt having checked the peephole before opening the door. She'd already changed from her date clothes and into black yoga pants and a cropped, spaghetti-strapped, gray tee. Obvious comfort clothes or possibly even her pajamas. Her hair was released from the bun it had been in during their date.

Her eyes were puffy and red.

"What do you want, Jane?" Her voice was tight with tension.

The use of his work name was jarring, disturbing. He swallowed hard and stepped closer. "Teresa…what…what have I done to you?"

The stunned expression that came to her face held for a few seconds before giving way to irritation. She grabbed his arm and pulled him inside, slamming the door behind him.

"Patrick!" she hissed, turning on him. "What…do…you…want?"

Her tear-stained face was still the loveliest thing in the world to him, causing a pang of angst to know the tears were because of him.

"No guilt, Patrick."

_No guilt, Patrick._

His turn to look stunned. Her voice had taken on a strange blend of _two_ voices. He started to answer but decided there was a better idea.

He took her in his arms and kissed her. In his eagerness he was a bit aggressive at first but immediately backed off, nibbling her lips with his in the tantalizing way she had earlier. Her lips parted in a gentle gasp. His tongue slipped into the opening and found hers. As her arms slipped inside his suit coat, she begins to wrestle tongue tips with him, her hands clutching and releasing his vest near his lower back. He sucked a little, tasting her glass of wine at the after-dinner jazz bar. Vaguely he wondered if that sweet intoxicating flavor was really only just the essence of her. It was light yet complex, and he wanted to drink of her all night.

She broke off the kiss, panting soft and low as she held him even tighter. He tilted her face towards his and covered it with feathery light kisses, until tracing a line over her jawline to her neck, inhaling her sweet tantalizing perfume that had been driving him mad all evening. It was tropical and light, like orange blossoms and heady vanilla, a perfect accompaniment to the wine of her lips. It made him hungry for her, and he nuzzled behind her ear, deciding where to start nibbling.

She took a deep breath as if bracing herself. Then her arms around him loosened and she brought her hands to his waist, gently indicating for him to back off. He did so immediately, examining her to read the cause.

He was surprised to find her doing the same.

"Patrick… why are you here?" she whispered.

"Because I've come to my senses, Teresa. After all this time, I figured out what is truly important to me. I love you. I have loved you for many years and I was foolishly close to ruining my chance at a new life with you."

Her brow knit and she gaped at him in surprise. Her gaze dropped as she studied the thoughts racing within her head.

"New life? We've known each other for nearly twelve years."

"And I've loved you for nearly nine of them," he said, protesting against her lack of understanding. Why didn't she get it? "I know you've felt something for me during some of that time—"

She pulled a long-suffering face and he smiled.

"Besides aggravation, irritation and exasperation."

A scoff of disbelief escaped her and she stepped back. Raising her hand to her forehead, she began to pace the length behind her sofa, turning exactly when she reached the end tables. It made him smile, recognizing that she was simply trying to define the boundaries and how far things extended. Confining a situation to a specific space.

Control freak tell. Lisbon was an open book to him. A rueful smile accompanied the thought that his tell would be similar if he'd allowed it to be displayed.

He let her go as long as she thought she needed, watching her, reading the tension in her shoulders and arms. His gaze flowed down the spaghetti straps of her body-hugging shirt, appreciating the movement of her slightly jiggling breasts. He looked up at the ceiling in shame when he realized how much he was enjoying examining her chest and wondering how those delicious mounds would fill his hands. She was so beautiful, and his desire for her proved delicious. He hadn't experienced such primal lust in a very long time.

It felt good. He felt alive. He resumed the examination of her healthy body, relishing the effect it had on him. Her delightful breasts, her slender waist bared beneath the cropped shirt, her full hips on her toned legs...

"Okay, let's start at the beginning," she said, stopping and putting her hands on her hips. She still didn't look at him, instead staring at a figurine on the sofa table. "Your fifteen terabyte random access brain is drawing conclusions that I can't… understand."

He gently grasped her arm and led her to sit on the sofa. Before taking the seat beside her, he removed his coat and tossed it onto a nearby chair. Tentatively he took her hand in his. They'd held hands often on their dates, whether during walks through the zoo or while watching a movie in a theatre. Throughout he convinced himself she was still thinking of terms of a budding romance and that holding hands was just an early stage of growing intimacy. To him it is much more important, like an anchor to hold her to him forever.

"It's very simple. I love you. I have ever since that case in Rancho Rosa, when I got to hold you close in my arms for the first time."

Her focus disappeared for a moment as she sorted through her memories, trying to recall when he'd ever done more than hug her, much less 'hold her close'.

"Rancho Rosa… the high school reunion, right? Selby and Jana Vickers murder?" Then she blushed very deeply.

Jane smiled at her and kissed her hand. "And I never did figure out what instrument you played."

"My one win against the great Patrick Jane," she smiled.

"Oooh, you've won a lot, Teresa. During that particular dance, for example, you won my heart completely."

She hesitantly pulled her hand away from him to clasp it with her other in her own lap, staring at them. A frown crept onto her face.

It was disorienting to not know what she was thinking. He always knew. Not just because he was a mentalist but because she was his favorite object of study. He often watched her comprehension of a solution to a puzzle long before anyone else and her wit was another reason for him to love her. Now the possibilities of what her thoughts were seemed endless. He had thought she felt the same about him but her reaction was not as expected.

She took a deep breath. "Patrick, our relationship… hasn't always been so smooth… and if you loved me all this time… as you say… then the many times you've… you've neglected to show respect for my feelings…"

Her soft voice wound down. Tears rolled down her cheeks before dropping onto her shirt. The sight of them burned in his chest like cattle prod. _Now_ he understood. He had much to atone for.

"Yes," he conceded. "So many times I've been a complete ass, Teresa, although I've always justified it as being part of getting a case solved. I've never hurt you just to hurt you. I know I rely too much on my 'damn the consequences' attitude sometimes, but I kept thinking you'd forgiven me for the times I hurt you—"

"I have," she interjected. Then she stammered, "That is to say… I have but I'm… cautious. Every time I think that… I love you… I have to talk myself out of it to… to…"

It stung that the thought of loving him was something she had to convince herself were thoughts not to have. He wanted to take her into his arms but at that moment, he didn't deserve her. And she deserved far better than him. It was hard to hear, but he forced himself to acknowledge it.

"You had to protect yourself … from the consequences of being in love with me. I understand."

He moved to stand, realizing it was time to go, but she grabbed his arm.

"No, don't leave," she pleaded lightly. As he settled back into his seat, she continued. "I…I can't say I love you, Patrick, but… whatever I do feel… is… amazing. Just… stay… while I think about this."

Her hands returned to a tight clasp together in her lap and she bowed her head as if in prayer. She didn't appear to be paying any attention to him but the human mind is an amazing thing, hers especially. He'd do anything to put her at ease but starting simple was best.

He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves before leaning sideways against the sofa cushion, facing her as much as he could. After crossing his legs towards her, he unbuttoned his vest and stretched his arm across the sofa back, reaching towards her, showing how open he was to her. Then he slowed his breathing as much as possible, all simple kinesics intended to project confidence, relaxation and peace.

It worked, just as he knew it would. Her grip loosened, as did her shoulders. Her whole body released from its mild catatonic state, shifting a little before she lifted her head to look at him again.

_Her feelings for me are… amazing?_ Yes, he could see the glow in her eyes, even if there was a bit of hurt there again. Easy to vow to make it up to her, but the actual doing would require work.

He moved his hand to caress her cheek which was now dry of her tears but still flush with emotion.

"Teresa, you are one of the most kind-hearted people I know. _You_ made me a better person. It was your compassion which saved me when I needed a friend and didn't know how to be one. I am eternally indebted to you for that, even if you were to ask me to leave now and never return."

She smiled the shy smile that always appeared when a compliment was directed at her. With a feeling of wonder, he moved his thumb to the corner of her mouth and then over her lush, satiny lips.

"I hope you won't ask that of me, my dear."

"No," she said. The spoken word felt so warm against his thumb. "No, just the opposite, Patrick."

She pushed past his hand as she shifted forward, bringing a knee onto the sofa. Bracing both hands on the cushion on either side of his head, she brought her face close to his.

"But if you don't kiss me now like I want you to… like _you_ want you to… I may have to hold you here until you do."

"Ah, my fearlessly assertive friend—"

"Lover," she interjected.

She had that look in her eye, that "determined cop" look, dedicated to capturing the quarry against whom the warrant was issued. There was no eluding this huntress.

"Indeed," he breathed before she pressed her lips to his.

* * *

**TBC: Red Raw Passion**


	10. Red Raw Passion Part I

**_Yes, finally. The juicy stuff. ___****Skip to 12 if you want to continue to the non-sexual part of the story.**

* * *

**I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload. **

* * *

Patrick let out a small groan as Teresa straddled his lap. The close heat of her womanhood penetrated his slacks and his dick spasmed as if reaching for her. As he wrapped his arms around her waist, she wrapped her arms around his neck and stabbed her tongue into his mouth, exploring his tongue, his teeth. It was sweet, sweet wine again, intoxicating him, making him drunk with happiness and passion. As she pressed her chest to his, she settled into his lap, smothering his crotch with hers. His dick jumped again.

An uncontrolled giggle escaped her as she began to grind against his hard-on. She broke off the kiss, bracing on his shoulders and continuing to dry hump him.

"You're huge, Patrick," she panted. "You're… you're…"

His eyes opened, although managing no more than a slit. Her breasts were bouncing before him, a tantalizing target to be cherished. He buried his face in her right mound, gently biting her through the soft cotton that covered it. God, she smelled so good. Orange blossom and soft feminine musk.

A soft yet high-pitched whine emanated from her. He grabbed her ass and increased the speed of her humping.

"Cum, you stubborn bastard," she said between heavy breaths. "You need to release for me."

"In you," he said through the kisses into her chest. He doubted she heard it but she answered.

"No! Now! Later you'll—" She groaned long and hard as he pulled her hips very hard into him. "You'll… last…in me."

A deep joyful laugh burst from him and he unburied his face from her chest. Pragmatic Teresa Lisbon! Who knew she was a logical lover as well as a logical cop? It was true; he needed release. It had been so long since he'd enjoyed an orgasm born of love and true desire. His threshold was so very low. She was being selfless, yet selfish as well.

He leaned back and let her ride him, the heat of her friction building as heat in his belly, shooting precum into the confined space of his garment. She paused just long enough to release his belt, waistband and zipper before again bringing herself into contact with him.

"So…good," he muttered through his own gasps, grabbing her hips, forcing her into him harder. His penis escaped from his shorts, coming into direct contact with her yoga pants. They were soaked with her hot juices. He cried out "REZA!" as his cum jetted from his member, spraying his vest.

She collapsed until her head was against his, gasping in his ear a few moments before climbing off him. Then her tongue was on his dick, licking to clean him with the very tip of her tongue. He curled up a little and gasped, feeling too sensitive to withstand her soft caress. When she persisted, he came again, squirting a bit more, this time on her chin.

He was lost for a moment, listening to the blood pounding in his ears and the raspy air in and out of his throat. When he came to, her hands were on his vest, releasing the buttons, followed by releasing his shirt buttons.

"Not… fair," he said, still a little short of breath. She threw his garments open and began covering his chest with kisses and lickings.

"So? Do something about it."

Her silky, long hair caressed his skin as she returned to kissing his torso and he was tempted to just let her continue. But no, his need was too great.

He forced himself to his feet, closing his belt tightly enough to keep his pants from falling down. Taking her hand, he brought her to her feet as well and then scooped her up in his arms, crossing to the stairs to her bedroom.

"About a condom…" he said, starting up the stairs.

"I know you're clean," she said with a grin, a devilish twinkle in her eye. "Besides, do they make them big enough to fit you?"

It caught him so off-guard, he leaned against the wall and laughed. God, he loved this woman.

"No, I mean… for— "

"I'm on the pill," she said, adjusting her arms around his neck. "Need it to prevent ovarian cysts. I got tired of being in so much pain during my period that I was throwing up. It used to make me miss work."

"The ultimate sin."

"It is," she said as he continued up the stairs. "Good thing it's Saturday. I'm going to need a day to recover from you staying the night."

"It's Sunday morning," he said, correcting her cheekily Then he asked, "I'm staying? I thought I was just going to tuck you into bed and wish you 'good night'."

"You thought wrong, mister." A wicked grin spread across her face. "And if I have to slip the cuffs on you as a convincer, I'm prepared to do that."

"No rough stuff, copper," he said playfully. "I'll go quietly."

"God, I hope not!"

"Okay, I'll go quietly but cum noisily."

She giggled and looked him with admiration and open lust.

* * *

**TBC: Red Raw Passion II - yes, the sex continues. Less raunchy, more romantic.**


	11. Red Raw Passion Part II

_**More juicy stuff, I'm afraid. Skip to 12 if you want to continue to the non-sexual part of the story.**_

* * *

**I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload. **

* * *

They entered her bedroom and he gently set her on the mattress. Giving her a tender smile, he turned on a bedside lamp and lowered himself on top of her, capturing her lips to drink of its wine. His right hand clenched and released her thick, dark hair, keeping her mouth to his while his left hand slid under her shirt, gently stroking her puckered nipple with light touches on the palm of his hand. As she caressed his neck and hair, shivers danced up and down his back. Groans escaped both of them.

Then greed seized him. He wanted to kiss every last part of her, knowing it would all be delicious. Apart from her sheer physical beauty, he adored her forceful, confident spirit. Contact with her was bound to instill an amazing sense of freedom he was looking forward to reveling in. He broke from her mouth and let his lips and tongue wander: her shoulder, down her arm, across her abdomen. When she reached to pull her shirt off and wiggle out of the yoga pants, he stopped kissing her in order to kick off his shoes and strip from the rest of his clothes.

"The body of a goddess," he murmured as he knelt on the bed next to her. "Venus, to be precise." He leaned over her, placing his hands on the mattress on either side of her head. As he moved to kiss her, an expression of doubt crossed her face.

"Damaged goods," she said sadly. Her hand reflexively touched on the bullet wound scar on her shoulder. It was a round depression in her skin, somewhat star-burst in character and situated an inch or so below her left collar bone.

The vulnerability in her eyes surprised him. He never pegged her as being self-conscious about her physical appearance. It was a lovely body, after all, but women were taught from a young age that "perfect" meant "beauty". She probably couldn't bring herself to look at the scar when she stood before a mirror. It was a reminder of how she had been fooled – they _all_ had been fooled, himself included – by Red John's minion FBI Agent Craig O'Laughlin.

"Your irremovable law badge," he said, removing her hand and kissing the white mark in her skin. "You're branded as a cop forever, my dear. Wear it proudly."

She pushed him back a little, staring in shock. Her eyes watered and her face began to pinch a little as she absorbed his words.

"My God, Patrick, how… how can you be such an expert at knowing what to say to push people's buttons—"

He gaped and started to answer awkwardly, never considering that she could take it differently than he intended. She continued without pause.

"—while at the same time being expert at choosing the right thing to say that makes a person feel everything will be all right?"

Then she pulled him to her, placing a hard kiss on his lips.

_You, Reza, _he thought, turning his head slightly to deepen the kiss._ I want to make _you_ feel that everything will be all right. And it will be._

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her soft body close to his, as her leg hooked on his, pulling it between her legs. The tips of her fingers trailed gently over his back, leaving a sensation that was magical in its intensity. His growing erection found a wonderful nest, snug and so moist, and was feeling very much at home. He ran his hand down her side, over her full hip and firm thigh before bringing her leg up. She followed the lead, rubbing her calf and thigh up his. Her body was open to him, inviting and warm.

She broke off to catch her breath.

"Reza, you are a sexy creature," he breathed in her ear, struggling to catch his own breath. "Sweet, yes, but very, very sexy."

Her lips found his neck and she placed sucking, wet kisses from his collar bone to his ear before latching onto the lobe with gentle kneading bites. There was no restraining the deep groan that escaped him, nor stopping his hips from jerking towards hers, his penis stiffening faster.

"_Please_, Patrick!" she sighed, pulling him tightly with her leg and arms. "I _need_ you. Now, more than I ever have before."

If she had known how to read his tells, he knows she'd see it then. He couldn't help freezing at her words.

_Now more than ever? _Oh, how he loved this woman!

He untangled from her limbs, causing her to whimper with distress. He ran his tongue in a line down her chest, between her breasts, pausing briefly to place a few feather light, affectionate kisses. Continuing with his tongue, he reached her dark muff and burrowed with his tongue-tip to find the epicenter of a woman's pleasure. She announced his success by bucking her hips and releasing a loud cry. Grinning, he lined up with her body and placed her legs over his shoulders, caressing her and licking her inner thighs alternately. When he found her clit again, she moaned, grinding against his mouth.

She was so responsive, probably as ready for release as he had been on the couch. Writhing and moaning, she grabbed his hand on her thigh and squeezed it hard. Her grip was nearly painful but it expressed her passion. Her woman's bed was beginning to contract and she moaned his name. He caressed himself with his free hand a few times and spread the resulting issue around his head before bringing his body even with hers. He spread her folds and placed his penis at the entrance of her. Wrapping his forearm under her ass to angle her hips properly, he entered, thrusting as deeply as he could reach, hoping he understood her body map. She released his hand and grabbed him around his back, digging her fingers into his muscles.

_That's gonna leave a mark_, he chuckled internally, wryly.

When he began to rock into her, she picked up the rhythm and met him enthusiastically. He opened his eyes to watch the passion on Reza's face. She was truly enjoying herself.

The grip around him seemed as strong as the squeeze she'd had around his hand and he felt his eyes roll back into his head as that delicious fire flared in his belly.

"Faster faster faster," she moaned quickly. "Please, Patrick…"

"Your… wish…my…dear," he said, intensifying his pace.

With a push of her thigh, she flipped him over and rode him upright even faster, bracing against his shoulders. His dominant little vixen liked control apparently. That was fine for the moment, but he really liked to take turns. Still it was wonderful to see her slack face, open-mouthed, consumed with the pleasure he was providing.

Then she stopped bouncing and rotated her hips around his root. Flashes of white light filled his vision, and with half a brain he felt around with his hand until he found her clit with his thumb, giving it a gentle caress. She froze a moment, her mouth and eyes opened in large O's. Her tight sheath grabbed him in strong pulses, her love juices flowing over him.

"Oh, God…" she finally panted, her body finally loosening.

He flipped their joined bodies onto her back and thrust into her hard and fast. He began to shoot his seed into her and he stabbed as deeply as possible. And again. And again. She groaned repeatedly, calling on her deity each time.

Then his strength vanished and he collapsed on her, wrapping her in a very relieved and very happy embrace.

* * *

**TBC: Rosy New Day**


	12. Rosy New Day

**I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload. **

* * *

Consciousness seemed to come to Patrick only after a struggle.

The brightness through his eyelids was actually prohibitive and he squinted against it. He felt tired despite knowing he'd slept a long while. Wherever he was, it felt safe and warm, and he wanted stay under the light down comforter she had drawn over their bodies sometime before dawn.

_She!_

He sat up abruptly, examining the empty mattress beside him. Her pillow still held the depression that nestled her head.

"Lizzbuun?!" he called.

The en suite bathroom door opened and her towel-turbaned head stuck out.

"Hey," she said with a sincere grin. "What happened to 'Reza'? I was just getting used to that."

It took a moment for him to orient to his new reality. Teresa Lisbon was in love with him, was truly his lover. Full actual confession, she'd said so after the third time they'd made love. And he had orgasms like he'd never experienced before, _even with Angela_. Something about spending years devoid of love and comfort made those treasures more intense.

And he'd slept deeply. Yes, he was still tired, but it was mostly because he was no spring chicken. He wasn't sure he was even a summer chicken. Three hours of sex was taxing on his 45-year-old body, no matter how invigorating or rejuvenating. But he had slept! No disturbing dreams. No haunting voice of Angela telling him to get on with his life. Just soul-healing sleep.

"I…I forgot," he admitted. "I needed you as a friend… and you've been 'Lisbon my friend' for so long that I…I just…forgot…Reza."

She stepped through the door, dabbing at her water-flecked, nude body with a light green towel which she dropped on a chair by her closet. He stared into her eyes as she settled near him on the bed.

"No one has ever called me that before. I love it coming from you because I love you."

Still gazing into her eyes, he asked tentatively, "You do? You love me?" He hated appearing weak and vulnerable in front of her, but she was the only one in his life who would be allowed to see that part of him.

The answer was a soft kiss on his lips followed by another, this one deeper, insistent and wanting. When she parted, he pulled her on top of him and removed the towel from her head.

"Of course you do," he said, grinning cheekily and wrapping his arms around her. He nuzzled her wet hair, snagging it on his day-old beard. "What's not to love?"

She struggled to sit up and then grabbed her pillow, laughing as she hit him with it. "Jane, sometimes you're insufferable!"

"Jane?" he asked, stealing the pillow and hitting her back.

Taking the pillow from him, she hugged it to her lap and nodded, still smiling. "After eleven years, it's easy to revert, isn't it?"

"Being such a good friend will be hard to forget."

"Friends with new benefits," she said, grinning. She crawled off the bed before tossing the pillow back at him. "Get up. I have no food here so we have to go out for lunch."

"Lunch?" he asked, glancing around. He found her alarm on the dresser: 11: 32AM.

Her smile was both sympathetic and amused. "Yes, you've slept the morning away, sleeping beauty."

"You wore me out, you vixen. Forcing me to make love to you over and over like you did."

Her smile turned into a grin and she re-entered the bathroom.

With a contented sigh, he settled back onto his pillow and drew the blanket up to his waist. He felt indescribably well. Getting laid will do that to a man, he knew. So will being told by a beautiful woman of her affection. Somehow it seemed of a higher level than all that. He felt he could do anything now. Every niggling task and responsibility that he'd avoided in the last ten years now seemed completely manageable. Starting Monday, he'd start taking care of them.

"Patrick, get up," Reza said, returning to the room. "I'm hungry."

He looked at her. Somehow while he was sorting his life and making a list of things to be done, she'd dried her hair, dressed and even put on makeup. Energetically he tossed back the covers and got out of bed. He glanced at the clock: 12:04PM. Where had the time gone?

"Fifteen minutes," he promised.

* * *

Twenty minutes later they were in his car driving towards his favorite eggs place in West Sacramento, one he frequented often. Patrick kept finding himself smiling at Reza. Reza kept watching the road and twitching occasionally at his improper lane usage.

After they pulled into the lot, he opened her car door and gave her his hand to assist her from the low riding Lotus. He was beginning to question the wisdom of getting the car in the first place. He knew his choice was primarily stubbornness because it was inappropriate for anything other than Sunday drives along Route 101 with the top down. Still, it was cool car, even if Reza didn't think so.

"Thank you for running a quick iron over my shirt and slacks while I was in the shower," he said as he held the door into the restaurant.

"No problem," she replied, shaking her right arm by her side, as if trying to wake it up.

"What's wrong?"

She looked at her hand and frowned. "It's all tingly."

"Oh," he said as they stepped up to the hostess station. "No worries. That's just common sense leaving your body for getting involved with me."

It was endearing the way she giggled, leaning helplessly against him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, reveling in how happy, almost giddy she was.

"Hello, Mister Jane," the hostess said. "This way to your table."

Reza pulled herself together and followed at his gesture. On the way, she glanced over her shoulder at him and started to laugh again.

"Really, it wasn't that funny," he said with a smile while he held her seat as she settled in at the table.

"Oh, but it was, because it has potential to be true!"

"Ah, perhaps, but we both know the real truth. You were gripping the door handle so tightly, you crushed a nerve."

"You drive too fast," she protested.

_That's my friend Lisbon._ He thought happily. It was going to be nice having access to both.

* * *

He ordered tea and a double serving of eggs. She had black coffee and pancakes with whipped cream.

They talked. The topic was ordinary discussion, just like on their dates. Reza was more in tune with current events and politics, especially because of her position with the bureau, so she'd update him on facts pertinent to life in law enforcement. Her hectic life didn't allow time to read for pleasure or esoteric edification, so they'd discuss books and articles he enjoyed of late.

As she was explaining (and complaining lightly) about a rumor of a CBI merge with the Bureau of Narcotic Enforcement, he watched her face closely. It was beautiful, but that wasn't why he loved her. It was an expressive face, a face that shared with a friend or perfectly camouflaged with an enemy, a suspect or a victim's family member. A love of life flashed in her eyes. It was inspiring.

She stopped when she realized he was staring. Gently she reached for his left hand that rested on the table and intertwined her fingers into his. Her eyebrows twitched up with surprise as she studied his hand.

"You removed it?" she asked softly.

He nodded. "Last night. Before I came back to your apartment."

Guilt passed over her expression as her eyes darted back and forth between him and his finger. The grin that came to his face was unavoidable because her guilt was so pointless.

"Reza, it's nothing to do with you."

Her mouth dropped open, and she gave that confused look she shared whenever he told an unbelievable whopper.

"Okay, okay," he said, holding her hand tighter. He swallowed hard and nodded. "It has a little to do with you, but mostly it was just… acceptance that it's appropriate. It's finally sunk in that Angela has been gone a long time, and I… need to let go. Foolish that I waited…right?"

A pain shot through his chest when her eyes started to water. He had vowed to do better by her but already he was causing her to weep.

"Patrick…maybe it _was_ time to remove your wedding band… but don't feel guilt that you're moving on. You can still love your family even while loving someone else. It's a sign that you love yourself."

She wrapped his hand in both of hers.

"And you must already know this. Even though I never met either of them, I love them too. In the years I've known you, I've learned how special they both were, and how their memory is an important part of the wonderful man you are."

The adrenalin shooting through his body caused him to tremble. He tried to pull his hand away. Her grip was as tight as when they were making love. No escape.

"You _are_ a wonderful man, Patrick. If anyone knows that, it would be me."

"You're biased," he mumbled. "I was pretty good last night… excuse me, this morning."

Disbelief escaped her in a telling scoff. "You were incredible, actually," she said, grinning. "I'm still feeling the euphoria from being with you."

She made him blush. The heat was racing up his neck and into his face. Unbelievable! No one made him blush!

"But you're also deflecting me."

There was nothing to say to that. He knew she knew it as well. Her one hand stayed entwined with his while her other caressed him lovingly. Watching her gentle movement slowed his breathing and calmed his spirit, wrapping him in a pillow of love.

"What did you do with it?" she asked. "You… you didn't throw it away, did you?"

He brought his gaze to hers. She sincerely looked worried.

With sudden decision, he glanced around to see if any staff was nearby and picked up his clean butter knife, holding it out by the handle toward her.

"Put this in your purse. We have to go."

She gaped at him for a moment. "What? You want me to steal silverware?"

"Just do it, Lisbon. Time is of the essence."

Then he grinned. He liked having this "Lisbon versus Reza - Friend versus Lover" signaling system.

He left a big tip on the table and went to pay the bill while she absconded with restaurant property.


	13. Red Hearts, Black Granite

**I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload. **

* * *

_It's perfect._ Jane thought. _Why didn't I think of this before?_

The drive wasn't very far, and Lisbon kvetched the whole time that Jane was back to his old tricks. He laughed when she said that next time he stayed the night, she was going to bring him off five times in order to wear him out. Or whatever it took that he didn't haul her off on mystery tours the morning after.

At least she wasn't complaining about his driving.

Ten minutes later she grew quiet. She was a very smart woman. No doubt she recognized the street and understood their destination.

He turned into Mary Queen of Heaven Cemetery and drove through to the familiar location towards the center. After pulling to a stop, he shut off the car and sat back, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

She touched his arm lightly but he couldn't look at her. The pity in her eyes would be too much to bear.

"Do you want me to come with you?" she asked.

"No…yes…I…" He took another deep breath. "You can if you want."

"That's not much of an answer, Patrick."

Irritated by her persistence, he finally opened his eyes to look at her.

"Listen," he said tersely. "I don't know what the norm is when a man says goodbye to his dead wife. Please… just be patient with me."

Again there was that face which shared with a friend, that lover of life, that understanding of another's heart. He regretted being such a jerk to the one person whose help he never minded accepting.

"Sorry, Reza," he said softly.

She said nothing. When she took his hand, he allowed it. The longer she held it, the calmer and stronger he felt. After giving it a squeeze, he released hers and opened his car door. Reza met him at the curb, walking alongside him silently.

"Did you bring that knife?" he asked. She dug it out of her purse and handed it to him. They continued up the gentle slope, approaching the graves of Angela Ruskin Jane and Charlotte Ann Jane. When he came to the foot of the plots, he realized Reza was no longer beside him. He glanced over his shoulder; she was a few feet away, near but not intrusive. He hoped his slight smile conveyed gratitude.

He turned back to the headstone. He felt a little foolish suddenly.

"You're not here," he said softly to Angela's grave. "You've never been anywhere but my heart… but I kept coming back here every anniversary of our wedding and every anniversary of your death as though there were a possibility I could ever forget either."

He glanced behind to find the headstone he always sat on. No doubt his sitting on a stranger's headstone was scandalizing Reza, but he sat anyway. They may be lovers, but he would always be who he was, no matter what. It was just a piece of rock, after all. Nothing more.

"You're still in my heart, Ang. Always. Your love will always be a part of me. My friend Lisbon…"

He stopped to swallow the lump in his throat. Clasping his hands together, he lowered his head.

"My friend Teresa… says my love for your memory has made me a good man. I have to agree. When I was chasing Red John, you were my drive to get through every day. You and Charlotte. You were the inspiration to not only exact my revenge but also to stop a truly evil killer from taking more lives. Now Red John is dead and your legacy has been established."

Once again he stopped to regain control. This time his heart was in his mouth, pounding its way to an exit.

"Now I've won the love of a woman who is as good as you were. Her goodness is different than yours was but just as wonderful. I'm lucky to know her. And just as I never deserved you, I wonder if I truly deserve her, but I'm going to try to be the best man I can for her. It's the only way I can to live up to what she deserves."

He paused a moment before adding, "And at least I've learned not to wait until it's too late to do someone proud."

He stared at the headstone a moment, memorizing the simple engraving, even though it was permanently etched into the walls of his memory palace.

"Angela… you've been my love for half as long as I've been on this earth, but I've come to realize that I've loved you longer as a memory than when you were alive. I know you would never want me to be in love with a specter until the end of my days because I would never want that for you. I love you too much to wish that on you."

He knelt before her headstone and stuck the butter knife through the sod, cutting a fist-sized plug of the thick layer of roots. Carefully he removed it, along with several scoops of cold dirt. Then he brought out his wallet and retrieved the ring, placing it in the bottom of the hole.

"Goodbye, Angela. I love you. I will never forget you."

Using the knife as a tool, he replaced the soil and sod back in the hole he'd created, grooming it to look like it had never been cut. Vanished.

Then he collapsed against the headstone and broke into sobs like he hadn't experienced before. They racked his body, driving pain through every nerve ending, leaving him prostrate.

When Angela and Charlotte died, he'd never allowed himself to feel the loss like he did at that moment. It was excruciating. It was a thousand times worse than he'd dreaded it to be, and he wasn't man enough to withstand it. Not back then, when he was about to suffer a complete emotional collapse which sent him in an insane asylum, and not now when twelve years of loneliness culminated with this final goodbye.

A strong and slender arm wrapped around him. Then a small, soft body pushed its way between him and the cold granite he sobbed against, transferring his weight onto her. Sweet cinnamon and orange vanilla. She didn't speak, just rocked him gently, caressing up and down his back.

Despite knowing he shouldn't be sobbing for another woman while in her arms, he buried himself in her shoulder and cried in a way he'd never allowed himself before because the darkness was too bleak. In the past, there had been no one who could handle that storm with him, other than the one whose passing had created it.

Now there was one whose strength was even greater, and he knew that when this storm passed, there would be no more storms to follow. Just this once, he'd allow her to hold him on account of another. After this, there would be no need to again. It was done.

* * *

**TBC: Red Listed**


	14. Red Listed

**I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload. **

* * *

_The next day_

His sick call hadn't fooled Cho one bit. Unfortunately it was for the wrong reason.

Not that it mattered.

"Listen, Cho, I won't make it in today. Tried a new restaurant last night, and I think I picked up a bit of a food infection."

"Uh huh. You know, if you miss this deposition, we're just going to have to reschedule it. You might as well come in and get it over with."

"No, seriously. I'm sick. In fact, transfer me to Lisbon's office. We had dinner together. I want to check if she got it too."

"I saw her this morning. She got here before me and looked fine. In fact she was smiling broadly, which doesn't make sense if she spent last evening with you."

"Aw, you wound me, Cho. And here I am, sick on my death bed."

"The appointment with the D.A. is at eleven. See you then." The phone connection went dead.

_Dammit_.

He pulled up Reza on his phone contact list and texted her. "_Tell Cho I'm sick."_

In a moment, his phone dinged._ "He just called, big baby. Go to Dep at 11"_

_Dammit again._

There was a terrible temptation to call Cho back and threaten to vomit all over his desk. Instead he rolled his eyes before glaring at the phone. Cho was proving to be as good a handler as Lisbon had been. Perhaps he'd met his match. Especially if they were going to double-team him.

He started to reply to Lisbon with an explanation that it had nothing to do with the damned deposition but he erased it. Instead he sent "_Personal day. Important."_

It was a few minutes before she answered. "_Dep rescheduled – tom at 3. You better be there_" A moment later it was followed by "_Need me?_"

Warmth spread through him at the sight of her compassionate message. "_Always, but not for this. Love you, Reza. –P_"

In a few seconds, his phone dinged. "_Love you, Patrick. –R_"

He grinned. Someone cared about him. This was something he could get used to.

Because of the heavy events in the afternoon, they'd spent the evening eating Chinese take-out, watching classic movies on cable and snuggling together. When they went to bed that night, they went to sleep, warm and secure in each other's arms.

Waking up in her bed that morning had been wonderful. The light of dawn left them in a better mood that was improved by the quickie in the shower. Then she went off to work and he returned to his hotel room for a change of clothes.

When he got there, he realized the depressing rut he'd dug himself into.

Entering the room was like seeing the place for the first time. Although not exactly a dump, it certainly looked dead-end and lifeless. Whatever soul it may have once possessed had been bound, gagged and dragged to hell. Everything was shades of brown: brown carpet, brown bedspread, brown wallpaper… It was all one big brown study. His plan to get out of there took on additional importance.

First he called several premier full-service realtors of Malibu properties and picked one which would handle all aspects of preparing and selling his old house, still abandoned since the murders.

Next he tracked down his old financial adviser and reestablished their relationship. His money had done some crazy things while he was 'gone', but for the most part his accounts were still ahead of the levels they'd been when he'd left them, especially the off-shore stuff. He understood his tendency back in the day toward caution, if not straight-out paranoia, but looking in retrospect, he now saw how far he'd been willing to go to hold onto every dollar he could get. He'd gone to great, convoluted lengths to protect his accounts from taxation or being seized should he get caught for the fraud he'd committed to get most of the money.

Part of him knew how ugly it would be to face the associated guilt. That was why it took twelve years to even consider doing so. How many times had he told himself that hoarding wealth was for Angela and Charlotte while deep down knowing it was really for him? At the time he denied that he'd been listening to a very ugly voice urging him to get more money, to fleece another crowd, to sell out another show, to garner more attention to his 'psychic skills'. It was complete madness and it led to the death of the two most important people in his life.

No, he couldn't think that way. A madman had killed his family. Despite his extreme greed, they didn't deserve murder for that. No one did.

But he did have to admit that most of his war with Red John was a matter of colossal arrogance on both their parts. If the universe had any random mercy left to spare him, he would try to attract it by not nurturing his ego into such a looming mountain. So many people had been hurt or died in the battles over the years. He had to accept his part in how long it had lasted and how far it had gone.

It would never happen again.

Deciding life was too complicated at the moment, he kept the off-shore money where it was, as well as Charlotte's long-neglected, woefully over-funded 529 college savings plan, unsure what to do with either. The rest he consolidated, except to set aside a good portion with plans to purchase a condo somewhere close to the CBI headquarters. It made him a little giddy to fantasize about getting help finding one with his best friend and lover Reza. Maybe she would even share it with him. He wouldn't push her but she'd always know the option was available to her. Even if it was just on the weekends they weren't on call with the Bureau.

Finally he contacted the exotic car dealership, consigning them the task of finding him another Citroen. He missed his old car.

Then he settled back with his tea and reveled in the sensations of having – and planning – a future. It was frightening, yes, but with Teresa Lisbon in his life, the unknown was now a bracing challenge instead of a dark abyss.

* * *

**TBC: Red Mahogany Casket**


	15. Red Mahogany Casket

**I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload. **

* * *

_Three months later_

Lisbon called Jane back from a crime scene, requesting that he hurry but refusing to tell him why. Whatever it was, it was bad. Her voice was lifeless, even when he purposely attempted to provoke her to illicit some emotion, any emotion. There was no point asking Cho, since the Korean man had been in the field with him, so during the drive back to CBI HQ, he called Rigsby to find out if there was a big case pending or some political catastrophe to be averted. Rigsby asked around his various contacts in CBI but there was nothing that he could find.

The previous evening she'd been fine on their shopping trip, looking for more furnishings for his new condo near downtown, even after he hinted that he was decorating to her tastes as well as his. She replied firmly that even as a lapsed Catholic, she couldn't sin to the extent of living with him. Teasing her that her behavior in his bed the previous weekend was sinfully delicious only produced a light smack to his arm and a warning for him to behave.

She completely ignored the hint about another way they could live together without any kind of sinning. Then again she always ignored hints at getting married.

As his car raced through Sacramento toward CBI, he wasn't terribly surprised when a SacPD officer pulled up behind him with the cherries flashing, because he had been speeding like hell. Fortunately it was old friend Mel Fogarty who recognized the Citroen. It wasn't acting when Patrick showed his desperation to get to CBI-HQ, so Fogarty drove him there in his squad car under sirens and lights. More agonizing minutes were wasted in security, something he couldn't charm his way through. He took the stairs rather than wait for the elevator and then ran to her office. The blinds were drawn and the room seemed dark. He burst in.

"Reza? Reza!"

"Here, Patrick." Flat inflection again. "Lock the door."

He did as instructed and crossed to her where she stood by the window, looking out over the Sacramento River below. When he laid his hand on her shoulder, she spun around and buried her face in his chest, hugging him tightly. He held her in return, running his palms firmly over her back, feeling her occasionally jerk in little catches of her breath.

What was wrong? A thousand possibilities raced through his head. Was he fired? Was _she_ fired? Was she ill? Was she… pregnant?

No to that last bit. He was certain he would be able to tell. He could always tell when a woman was pregnant. Some things really are a gift.

"Talk to me, Reza," he said softly, caressing her hair and placing a soft kiss on her head.

"San Fran—" She gulped. "Emergency room… doctor… Tommie."

He held her tighter, dreading her next words.

"Shot…dead."

Then she broke down, sobbing and calling for her lost little brother.

* * *

It wasn't the usual funeral for a bond agent.

For one thing, it was crowded with cops from districts all around California. Secondly, there were more people in attendance than are friends with bounty hunters in general.

Teresa Lisbon, being who she was, brought law enforcement together without trying. Everyone who heard of her tragedy wished to pay respects to her family. There were a couple hundred people there, including a representative from the governor's office, FBI agents, sheriff's deputies of obscure counties, as well as most of CBI.

Patrick could see it was starting to overwhelm Reza. It was her brother's funeral but no doubt she wondered how it came to being about her. He stayed close, standing to the left and behind her like a body guard but without the menacing presence or the sunglasses. He remained silent until she showed signs of agitation, at which time he'd step in to deflect the offender or to distract her from the offensive. Eventually she began to notice and flashed him half-smiles of gratitude.

She wasn't the only one to notice. Her old team started to run interference for her with Cho giving his characteristic stare that made people keep it brief, and Rigsby making socially awkward comments that cleared a space. Grace seemed determined to keep Jane back from Lisbon, sometimes trying to maneuver between him and her.

Evidently the rumors of Lisbon's love life had not yet reached as far as the FBI's offices in San Francisco, despite the five months they had been based in facts about the Chief Agent and her charming consultant.

"Kimball, would you mind having a word with Grace? You know… explain about… things?" he murmured to the Korean man.

Cho looked at him pointedly. "Tell her yourself."

Patrick made a show of having the good grace to look embarrassed. "She doesn't trust me."

"Sounds reasonable," Cho replied. "I don't always trust you either." He turned to Van Pelt and opened his mouth to speak… until he looked around. He was in the middle of a cemetery in the midst of dozens of cops, most of whom were strangers. Shouting 'Jane and Lisbon are lovers' didn't suit the situation.

Again he looked pointedly at Patrick before pulling Grace to the side, murmuring a few words. Her jaw dropped open as she stared, first at Cho, then at Patrick.

Patrick quirked an eyebrow at her and stepped closer to Reza who was thanking the chief of SacPD for attending.

* * *

The graveside service was long and tedious. Patrick watched Reza closely but she bore up well, her eyes glued to the coffin while her hands fidgeted with his handkerchief that he'd given her earlier. On her right was James Lisbon, another of Reza's brothers, and his wife and kids. To Patrick's left was Annabeth, Tommie's only daughter.

The third brother was absent, a fact Patrick knew bothered Reza tremendously. She thought of herself as the matriarch of the family and one of the 'boys' had misbehaved, but she also realized that Franklin "Frank" Lisbon had made his decision and would have to live with it for the rest of his life. There wasn't much she could do.

During the final invocation, it became too much for Annabeth. She turned to Patrick, collapsing in inconsolable sobs against him. He placed a gentle arm around her shoulders.

_She's about the age Charlotte would be, just entering college. _ He had an instant affinity for her, knowing the challenges that lay before her. Despite being as independent as her Aunt Reese in most things, she was facing the overwhelming world all on her own. What eighteen-year-old was capable of handling life alone?

Well, yes, he had been, but he'd been groomed by his carnie dad to think on his feet and to turn every situation to his advantage, so he was better prepared for the world. And he hadn't just lost the most important person in his life. Okay, so at eighteen, maybe he had. The biggest difference was he had left his dad, not the other way around. Tommie Lisbon had been a caring attentive dad who hadn't chosen to go, whereas Patrick couldn't wait to get away from his own father and took the first chance to do so.

No, the love between Annie and her father had powerful. Patrick imagined that now it had sunk into the young woman's mind how much she'd truly lost. Not just her father but also her future, both immediate and long term.

"Aunt Reese and I are here for you, Annie. You know we won't let you down."

He was certain she didn't hear him on a conscious level, but his strong hug and reassurances were helping on a more visceral level. Her sobs reduced to sniffling, enough so he could encourage her to switch seats with her, giving her access to her aunt's shoulder. She took it.

* * *

**TBC: Red Lines on a Map**


	16. Red Lines on a Map

**_I confess: I'm getting impatient to end this, so the editing of these last few chapters isn't very good. Hope you enjoy the story anyway._**

* * *

**I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload. **

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The Family Meeting. Being an only child, Patrick had never attended one. Mostly there was a lot of arguing, something he hadn't expected.

James was insisting Annie come to Chicago to live with him and his wife. It was stable and secure in their home, and Annie would have five kids around to help her adjust to an ordinary life, as opposed to the craziness surrounding being the daughter of a bounty hunter.

Patrick rolled his eyes. To go from having the freedom of being an only child with a transient existence, to being trapped in a stifling domestic scene with five screaming adolescents and a woman in the early stages of peri-menopausal changes, such as Arlene Lisbon was experiencing? Patrick guessed confidently that in truth Arlene was really looking for a live-in baby sitter. Sounded suspiciously like a description of hell on Earth for an eighteen-year-old.

Aunt Reese was insisting that Annabeth come live with her, at least until she could get her feet under her, maybe find a job and eventually go to college after all.

James insisted – loudly – that Reese didn't have room for Annabeth in her small apartment. Then he added with contempt that her lifestyle wasn't conducive to taking care of a young girl.

Patrick watched Reza start to wind herself up, recognizing the signs of an impending volcano.

"I have an idea," he said quickly.

The three adults in the room suddenly turned to look at him. He crossed to the shared door between the hotel rooms and opened it, calling for Annie to join them.

"Why don't we ask _her_?"

"What?" James shouted. "She's a child! What the hell does she know?"

"She's eighteen," Patrick said firmly.

"What the hell do _you_ know about it, you thieving son of a bitch?"

Annie entered, looking around warily. Patrick ushered her to his vacated chair and sat her down. In a carefree manner, he positioned himself toward the door that exited to the hall.

"Annie, you're a legal adult, having turned eighteen…when exactly?"

"Last March," she said, glancing at the faces of each adult.

"Where do you want to live?" He took another casual step and a half away from them.

"What?" she asked. "I don't understand."

"Do you want to live in Sacramento or Chicago?"

"Sacramen—"

He reached over and opened the door. "Fine. Let's go, then."

Aunt Reese was out of her chair in a second, tapping on her niece's arm. James reached for the other arm but Aunt Reese intercepted, grabbing him by the wrist. Patrick knew the power of that grip. He wasn't surprised James flinched.

"Touch her and I'll haul you in for unlawful restraint."

Annie looked at Aunt Reese and then at Patrick who gestured emphatically toward the open door. As Aunt Reese released her brother's arm, Annie hurried for the exit. Aunt Reese followed and Patrick brought up the rear, giving the remaining Lisbons a small wave before closing the door behind him.

* * *

He drove them to his condo. Inside Aunt Reese gave her niece one of Patrick's tee shirts and a pair of her sweat pants that had been left at his place. Then she started to lead her niece toward a guest bedroom.

"Wait," Annie said, finally breaking the silence that had endured all the way from the hotel. "Are… are you two… uhm…?"

Aunt Reese shot Patrick a glare of "_You_ answer her."

Patrick grinned. "Yes, your aunt and I are 'uhmers'."

The young woman grinned in return. "Cool. Does that mean I get to call you 'Uncle Patrick' now?"

Aunt Reese raised her brows in surprise and looked at him. "It's up to you, Patrick," she said.

He crossed to the young lady and took her into a gentle hug that she returned. "I consider it a great honor that you might want to. Yes, please consider me your uncle."

When they separated, her eyes were watering. He patted her on the shoulder and gestured toward the hall to the guest bedroom. "My home is your home. Go with Aunt Reese. She'll show you where everything is. Sleep deeply and well, Niece Annie."

She rewarded him with a warm smile. "Thank you, Uncle Patrick."

Reza returned in a few moments and sat on the leather sofa as he built a fire in the hearth. Once it was lit, he sat next to her and brought her to his chest where she relaxed with a relieved sigh. She kicked off her shoes and stretched her legs out on the couch.

"So... we're 'uhmers'?" she asked, amusement in her voice.

"Well...I thought it pretty much covers it. Don't you? When we're like this, we say 'uhm'. When we're making love, we say 'uhm'. When I give you a massage on a Monday night, you say 'uhm'. When I get to give you a hug when we meet for lunch, I say 'uhm'. When-"

She chuckled, snuggling into his chest. "Okay, you're right," she said with exaggerated concession. "Pardon me for daring to ever question your assessment."

"You're excused this time, but it's still going into your permanent file."

Again she sighed but said nothing more, just running her hand up and down over his thigh.

"Sorry about how it went down with James," he murmured. "I couldn't think of another way to get Annie out of there."

Her body stiffened and she briefly clutched at his leg.

"It was inevitable that James and I would clash. We're too much alike in many ways."

"No, I disagree. Yes, you're both very stubborn, but the difference in this situation is that you're seeing Niece Annie for the mature, capable young woman that she truly is."

Under her breath she said "Niece Annie" like it pleased her.

"You recognize yourself in her, don't you?" he asked. "She's you when your dad died. James has his own perspective of what it was like when that happened since he was only fourteen and unprepared to deal with responsibility. He doesn't realize what a difference four years makes in how you both view the loss of a parent."

"You're right, Patrick. I didn't think of it like that. Obviously you're seeing this more clearly than I am."

"Less emotional investment clouding my objectivity."

"That too." Again she rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. "Thank you for taking care of her. Of both of us."

"Mostly you. You're the most important person in my life. Niece Annie is just an added bonus."

He made her sit up a moment while he took off his shoes and removed his vest. Then he reclined into the corner of the sofa and had her lie on top of him, their favorite way to cuddle. It was their first opportunity for an intimate moment in the five days since news of Tommie's death, so he untucked her blouse from her slacks to trail his fingers tips over her bare skin of her lower back, something he knew drove her wild. He hoped it would prove sufficient distraction to ease her worries a little. It seemed to be helping because soon her lips found his.

* * *

**TBC: Red Warning Flag**


	17. Red Warning Flag

_**A very special THANK YOU to YulianaHenderson for the info about Annie's name being Annabeth, not Annabelle. Oopsie! If anyone sees an instance that I neglected to correct, please let me know.**_

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**I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload. **

* * *

After several wonderful, loving and healing kisses, Reza placed her head on his shoulder and sighed with contentment.

"Uhmmm, that was good," she said.

"That's why we're uhmers," he replied with a grin.

She giggled and hugged him. "You were right," she admitted.

"Of course I was," he said, squeezing her in return.

Again she sighed deeply, although it seemed less with contentment and more with resignation.

"What's up, sweet lady?" he asked wrapping her in his embrace again.

"I'm going to have to go furniture shopping," she sighed with just a bit of irritation in her voice. "Have to get a bunk bed to share with my new roomie."

Not a pleasant thought at all, hence the slight irritation. He shared it a little. Even though it had occurred to him that Annie's residency in Reza's apartment would present some changes, the biggest would be to the impromptu nature of some of their romantic moments together. It had not been unheard of for him to ask to swing by or for her to call him to come to her apartment late on a weeknight just because one of them felt a need for the other. His love life and especially his reawakened libido demanded these visits no matter who initiated them. Looked like he'd purchased the condo just in time.

Inspiration struck and Patrick opened his eyes, staring at the coffering work of the ceiling. Then a separate inspiration came to him, opening his eyes even wider.

"Reza…"

Stiffening his body was an obvious tell that he didn't realize he'd let slip until Reza stiffened as well. Combined with the urgent tone of his voice, she rose up to examine his expression. "Jane…? You're getting that look on your face."

_Jane_. It was too cute.

"Lisbon? Are we on a case?"

She rolled her eyes but her face flushed and her smile was of genuine amusement.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, plowing through. "That look usually means I'll soon be tap dancing on marbles, trying not to fall on my ass."

Way too cute. How would he be able to stand the rest of his life with her being so adorable?

"No, really, this is truly inspired thinking," he protested. "You and Annie should move in here."

More adorable Lisbonisms. Her eyes widened as did the O shaped opening of her mouth. Once again he'd left her speechless. It was hard to do lately as she grew accustomed to him, but there was a certain amount of pride when he did. He might even get an extension on it with his next words.

"And I'll live in your apartment."

Ha! Success! Her expression was a priceless mix of surprise, confusion and utter disbelief.

"Patrick, are you nuts? Why the hell would you do that? Why would I do that?"

That was disappointing. She was recovering faster than he anticipated. He decided to try puzzlement.

"Doesn't it make sense?" he asked innocently.

"Uh… no?" She practically scrambled to sit up, straddling his hips and staring at him like he had gone completely bonkers.

"Reza, this place would be perfect for you two. Three bedrooms, two and a half baths, plenty of space, close to work… You could be at CBI in two minutes, knocking heads together and cracking whips at a moment's notice. Think of how happy that would make you."

Crossing her arms, she studied his face for a moment, looking for a tell. He kept his face deceptively gleeful. When she melted into "interrogating the prisoner" fierceness, he knew he hadn't slipped and she was trying another tactic.

"Talk. What's this about?"

"I thought I was talking." He smiled in a silly manner and crossed his arms over his own chest, mocking her stern posture.

A gleam came to her eyes as she studied him a moment longer. Then she reached down and stroked the zipper of his pants. The beginnings of an erection had formed while they were kissing and she found it, outlining it between her thumb and finger. It caught him completely off-guard; he twitched.

"Biofeedback," he said with false bravado. Fake it while trying not to make it.

She fondled him again, smiling because his growing physical response belied his words.

Inside he was trying to think of anything except the hand-job he desperately wanted. Grass… leaves… landscaping… bushes… her bush, no! Uhm…trees… tall…long… stiff… hardwood…NO!

He grabbed her wrist lightly, pulling her hand off his growing hard-on. "Okay, okay, okay! Stop, before you break something. Then you won't have a toy to play with."

Joyfully she laughed. "I'm fiiiiiinally figuring out how to break through the Jane Games."

"By playing dirty… literally," he said, grinning. "It would be interesting to see you use that to keep me in line at a crime scene, Agent Lisbon."

"Whatever the challenge calls for." Her playful voice toned down and she spoke seriously. "Now tell me the truth. What ingenious plan were you trying to bolster by presenting a not-so-good plan?"

"Hey, that _was_ a good plan. Why wasn't that a good plan?"

She tried to move her hand back to his crotch, despite the fact he still gripped her wrist.

"Okay, okay! Actually… I do have a very good idea on how to help Annie with school. With college."

"And what is it?" she asked. A slight panic came over her face. "And don't say 'card counting in Reno'! Every month I get a letter from the Reno Association of Casino Owners with a renewed vow that you won't be allowed in any of their establishments."

He chuckled.

"I'm serious," she warned. "Stay out of Nevada for a while."

"There's nothing illegal about counting cards. It's actually an enviable skill that more people wish they possessed."

It was adorable the way she rolled her eyes.

"And I wasn't going to say counting cards or gambling," he assured her. He intertwined his fingers with hers on both hands and rested them on her thighs. His thumbs caressed her automatically. It was astonishing how touching her was becoming an automatic act most of the time.

With all seriousness he met her gaze. "A few months ago, I found out that there was a bit of a screw up with my finances, my own fault. The automatic payments to a 529 savings plan have been made continually off other investments for the past thirteen years because I didn't stop them. The fund was never cancelled."

She stared at him blankly for a moment. "What's a 529 savings plan?"

"Angela and I set up a college tuition savings plan…" He trailed off.

"For Charlotte," she finished for him. She removed her hands from his in order to cup his cheeks. "God, I'm sorry, Patrick. I didn't think of how all this college talk would affect you."

"It doesn't, my dear," he said, taking her hands and kissing her palms. "I'm going to cash it in and we'll have Annie use it."

* * *

**TBC: The Rosy Future or a Black Inevitability?**

**_Sorry the chapter names don't seem to fit the content of the chapter/scene. I'm running out of cleverness, I'm afraid._**


	18. The Rosy Future or a Black Inevitability

**I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload. **

* * *

"The Charlotte Anne Jane College Assistance Grant," he said with exaggerated grandness.

To his dismay, she burst into tears and collapsed onto him.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" he asked, holding her and rubbing her back.

She didn't answer for the longest time, and the reassuring caress didn't seem to be helping. Maybe he should have waited to tell her, but he was pretty excited to have the chance to do something good with that damned fund. Apparently he didn't appreciate how fragile Reza was feeling at the moment. It had been a long, hard week, with so many responsibilities to juggle: the funeral, worrying about Annie, dealing with Tommie's small but messy estate, trying not to worry about what was going on with CBI caseload while away on bereavement. He should have realized now was not the time to throw another decision at her.

He had to stop the crying, though. It was breaking his heart.

"We can call it something else," he said, keeping his tone light and carefree. "How about 'Reza Lisbon's Charm School Sponsorship for Female Law Enforcement Trainees'? Eh? Does that sound better?"

It worked. Finally she sat up, struggling to smile through her tears.

"Patrick, that is such a noble gesture, but you don't have to do that. Annie and I will be fine."

"Reza, either it goes to Annie or it goes into the CBI Widows and Orphans Fund. Why not help an orphan I know personally? My new niece, for example."

He tried to look charming as she examined his face. The love on her face was unmistakable. The light in her eyes was inspiring. Charming switched from being a mask to being communication of how he felt about her; charmed to his very core.

"This isn't just you being nice to a hard-luck case," she whispered. "And it's not a pat-yourself-on-the-back move. You were sincerely touched that Annie wants to call you 'Uncle Patrick'."

_Busted_. If he was honest with himself, he had to admit he hadn't realized the truth until she spelled it out for him just then. She knew him so well. In many ways, better than he knew himself.

Like someone else he'd loved. It took some talent to see through him. And perseverance. And a lot of love.

He thought for a moment, trying to think of some joke with which to deflect her. Nothing was forthcoming because the truth was the 400-pound gorilla in the room. And the gorilla was roaring.

"Yes," he said. "I want to be part of a family again. Her acceptance means more to me than I originally understood. She's a good kid."

Her gaze floated over his face, studying him. Finally she smiled. "And an expert pick-pocket, thanks to you."

"Expert? Well, it's good to hear she's been practicing."

She slapped him playfully on the chest, grinning. Then she leaned forward to place a light kiss on his lips. "Wicked influence," she said.

"Picking pockets is a life-skill," he said. "Knowing what's involved with executing it means she never will be victim of it."

Reza's expression turned skeptical. "Oh, so we should all learn how to be criminals in order to prevent being victims of crime?"

"Well, not exactly. I didn't mean that we should all become burglars, but knowing how they work…"

She kissed him again. "Yes, I know. A knowledgeable citizen is a prepared citizen. But I don't think you taught her to pick pockets just to keep her alert."

"No, that was mostly just mischief."

The joy in her laughter was delightful to hear after the last few days of solemnity, and when she collapsed lightly on his chest, her warmth infused into his deepest core. He wanted to pick her up and carry her off to the master bedroom to turn that emotional closeness into a physical one, but with his new niece in the house, it wouldn't do.

In fact, he couldn't even stay the night. When it came time to go, Reza may insist that it was all right for him to stay, but deep down, the perceived impropriety would bother her.

Patrick gave Reza another loving squeeze and then pushed her upright before indicating she should let him sit up. After she climbed off him, he stood and stretched his back and arms.

"Listen, I should let you get to sleep," he said softly. "Let me just get my ready bag and a fresh suit from the closet, and I'll be out of your hair."

"What? Where are you going?" she asked, jumping to her feet.

"I'll stay at your place tonight while you stay here with Annie. You're still on leave, but Cho is expecting me back in CBI tomorrow. Having rediscovered the joy of sleep, I find I miss it when I go to work without it."

Confusion filled her face which turned into deep dismay as she drew the same conclusions he just had.

"I know you and Annie will be busy tomorrow finishing with clearing out Tommie's apartment, but if you want to break for lunch and meet me, I would like that."

"If you don't catch a case," she said softly.

He nodded and started for his bedroom.

"Patrick…"

_Oh I-hope-I-hope-I-hope-I-hope…_ He paused to look at her.

"Thank you. I appreciate what an imposition this is."

_Damn._

Well, he hadn't really expected anything else. At least not right away. It was going to take a while for her to realize how much Annie _really_ understood about life and human relations.

"It's only for a little while," he said, forcing a smile. "I want you to feel free to stay as long as you need to." He turned before she could respond, attempting to place distance between them.

* * *

In the master, he walked into the closet to retrieve the pre-packed case all agents and operatives kept ready in preparation of sudden out-of-town travel. Out of habit, he glanced around the large room, eyes resting briefly on the small section she'd claimed for herself. It consisted of her work clothes for the few times she stayed the night at his condo.

It was funny how they seemed more comfortable making love at her small two-room apartment in West Sacramento rather than his million-dollar condo in one of the best areas of Sacramento near downtown. Maybe because her place had become more home-y as the two of them spent a lot of time there. His place tended to be overly-neat, seemingly decorated for a photo shoot of Elle Décor Magazine. He liked the simplicity and cleanliness in its lines. But he had to admit that except for the presence of her orange toothbrush next to his on the bathroom counter, the entire condo lacked warmth and comfort. It definitely needed a woman's touch.

Or more realistically, two women's touches. Two Lisbons. It would happen. He'd make certain of that.

The door to the hall clicked shut and he stuck his head out in time to see Reza locking the knob.

"What's going on?" he asked.

She turned and smiled a tight, predatory smile as she began to unbutton her blouse.

"You're not leaving without making love to me, Patrick."

"What about Annie being in the next room?"

"You're going to be quiet," she warned. "And so will I."

_Ah! Progress already._

He grinned, helping her remove the blouse from her shoulders. "Oh, no, you won't. Not if I do my part right," he warned in return before capturing her lips with his.

* * *

**_TBC: Red Fading to Pink_**


	19. Red Fading To Pink

**Sorry, kids, I just wasn't feeling another love scene. I may insert it later under a separate story, but it just wasn't happening.**

**Hope you enjoy the next drama in Jane's attempt to make a life with Lisbon.**

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**I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload. **

* * *

_Seven months later_

"Jane! C'mon, Boss wants us in her office. Now."

Jane looked up from the folder of crime scene photos to Cho but shook his head. "There's something wrong with this rug, Cho. You see how the camera flash is reflecting off these tassels? I think we need to go back to that studio and take another look. Find out what caused that."

Cho made a cursory perusal of the picture and nodded once. Motioning with his hand, he urged his consultant to follow.

"If Lisbon hasn't chewed your head off completely during this meeting, we'll take whatever remains of it along with the rest of you back to Olivehurst so you can check it out."

Jane placed a splayed hand on his chest and stared wide-eyed at Cho.

"What could she possibly be angry with me about?"_ Oscar material if they gave Oscars to poor, overworked, put-upon consultants._

Cho stared at him steadily for a moment before turning toward the elevators. "Let's go."

* * *

"…I apologize sincerely for Mr. Jane's taking liberties with your sculpture. I assure you that he will not be allowed to enter your studio again—"

Jane raised his hand to point out that it was the scene of the crime he was about to solve, but a dark look from Lisbon stifled him quickly. No doubt about it. She was pissed.

"—and if you will accept _his_ apology, I'm sure it will go far to smooth the way for us to continue our investigation into the death of Congresswoman Standler's son."

The indignant artist glared at Jane. "An apology? He knows as little about contrition as he knows about art—"

"Oh I'm certain you know more about being a sorry individual than I do," Jane said softly. By the fuming expression on Lisbon's face when she glanced at him, he knew she had heard him.

"—And as far as your investigation is concerned," the middle aged, pudgy man continued, not absorbing what Jane said. "…it has nothing to do with me or my work. If your people so much as lay a finger on my art again, the suit against the state of California will be more than enough to pay for the new wing on my gallery."

Jane nodded sagely while inside he leaped with glee. It was the last piece he needed. Too bad Cho was such a stickler for that pesky stuff called 'evidence'. Well, he'd have it soon enough. They had some wiggle room for catching this guy. This self-absorbed ass wasn't going to abandon his tons of crappy sculptures any time soon.

"Mr. Ascot Lloyd-Bellinger the Third, I'm terribly sorry that I turned your exquisite statue upside-down on its pedestal. I sincerely thought one of the Yuba County deputies had perhaps knocked it over and set it back the wrong side up. I apologize that you were offended by my misinterpretation of your act… I mean, art."

He looked at Lisbon to see if it was acceptable and that's when he first noticed it. There was a slight sheen of perspiration on her upper lip and over her brows. Her color looked a little off, too, like she was slightly nauseous. This was beyond apoplexy with him and Cho about having to field another complaint about professional standards.

Still, he couldn't know for certain until he asked her, and he couldn't ask her until the extremely irritating Lloyd-Bellinger the Pedophile Sculptor was gone.

Fortunately, the artiste got what he came for, and after wrapping his artsy horse-blanket cape closer around his horse-shaped body, he stomped out of Lisbon's office.

"Cho, make sure he finds his way to the elevator," Lisbon said, making an impatient gesture. "Jane, you stay."

"I had no intentions of leaving, Director Lisbon."

Cho left and Lisbon made another gesture towards the chair in front of her desk. Jane took the seat as directed, waiting for her to finish signing the document in front of her and set it aside.

"What the hell was that all about?" she asked, tossing down her pen and staring at him.

"Oh, he's just mad because I unmasked his perversion."

"His…?"

"He thought he was being clever by sculpting a disturbing act with a male minor and then turning it so it looked like abstract art. I set the piece right side up and everyone saw it….including his mother who was enjoying a cup of tea on the small deck outside his studio window." He then shrugged. "Well… _had_ been enjoying. Up until she recognized what it was."

"Ugh…" Lisbon said, drawing her head back and swallowing. "You can be a mean son of a bitch, Jane."

"I didn't know she would go out there," he protested. "I was thinking more in terms of the local deputies and the staties who were inside with us. Mom was… collateral damage, so to speak. I mean, who goes out to have a cup of tea at a murder scene?"

Lisbon raised her eyebrows and hung her face forward with a look that asked "are you hearing yourself?"

"That doesn't count," he said, gesturing defensively. "Tea is just working lubrication for me."

She sighed heavily and glanced around the numerous folders stacked on her desk. "And on the subject of work, I suggest you get back to it." Selecting one of the folders, she opened it and started reading.

"Right away, Director Lisbon." He stood and tugged to straighten his vest.

"It's Tuesday," she added. "Annie's short schedule day. She texted me to say she's already at home making lasagna. She expects us to be home from work at six."

Jane examined her left hand splayed out to hold the folder open. It was slightly alarming but it was hard to tell for sure. He needed time to look more closely.

"Yes, she texted me as well," he said slowly. "She asked me if she could have a half-glass of wine with dinner, since she's all 'nearly nineteen' and all that." Intentionally he made a silly face that she chuckled at. It spoke volumes about her emotional state, a very good sign. "I texted back that the only acceptable approval would have to come from you."

Lisbon rolled her eyes and picked up her phone to read the list of texts. "No message. Maybe she chickened out about asking. Well, only half a glass. She has a full class day tomorrow and she's scheduled to work at the library as well." She clenched her hand into a fist as if to flex it and then rolled her shoulder a little.

"Got a twinge?" he asked.

"I think I slept wrong," she said. "I feel like I didn't get a good night's sleep, and my shoulder and neck hurts."

"Hmm. Did I overdo my massage yesterday?"

The smile she graced him with brought the sunshine back into his life for a moment, but she was still perspiring, perhaps just a little more.

"I always look forward to your Monday evening massage, Patrick. You're expert at them."

"How about your jaw?" he asked stepping around to her side of the desk. He sat on it and took her left hand. It was slightly clammy. "Does that hurt too?"

She looked up at him with surprise. Her pupils were constricted, more than the light levels in the room could account for. "How did you know about...?"

"Do you have any aspirin? It will help with the pain."

She gaped at him a moment, confusion in her eyes. Then she opened her right desk drawer, retrieving the bottle to give to him.

_There is no denial greater than the one proclaimed into a mirror._

He dosed out a pill for her and calmly poured her a cup of water. "Take this. I'll be right back."

He stepped out and went around the corner just far enough that he could still peek into her office while he called emergency services. Cho walked up as he was giving the address for CBI headquarters and reiterating with the dispatcher that it was a possible heart attack victim.

"Who?" Cho asked when he stepped up.

"Teresa. Listen, do me a favor, and head over to our place to get Annie. I'm sure they'll take Reza over to Sac General. I'll call you if it's any different."

"Did you tell her I'm coming to get her?"

"No, I just called the damned ambulance."

"But-but…are you sure? Lisbon is… what, forty-three?"

"I sincerely hope I'm wrong, Kimball, but I'm not taking any chances. On your way out, tell security where to send the EMTs. I'm going back to keep her calm until they arrive."

Cho stared at him a moment, his facial muscles twitching in an attempt at iron control, probably trying to remember the last time Jane was wrong. He turned and walked away quickly. Then he broke into a light jog. Patrick returned to Reza's office.

She was staring at her fingernails, puzzled. "Do my fingers look funny to you?" she asked when he stepped in. "Kinda…stained? Slightly…pale blue?"

"Possibly," he said, "You been eating blueberries at your desk again, Agent Lisbon?" He came to her side of the desk again and took her hand in his. "Come sit with me over here on the couch."

"I have work to do, Jane."

"I know, I know. Just let me help you relax after making you deal with that asshole from Olivehurst. You'll be much more able to handle the rest of the day if you do."

She glared at him a moment but it was a playful kind of glare. He smiled his most disarmingly, despite the dread and fear that was gnawing at his stomach.

"And I want to apologize for putting you in that situation."

"Hmmm," she smiled, standing up and moving to the sofa with him. She shivered as with a chill and Patrick immediately removed his suit coat to place around her shoulders. A soft 'thank you' came from her lips as she pulled it around herself. "It's about time you apologized for something of your own free will."

"You're absolutely right, Reza," he said, sitting in the corner and guiding her to sit with her back against his chest. He murmured to her softly, repeatedly stroking her hair. "You're right so much of the time. It's nice to be right, isn't it? It makes you feel good. Relaxed and free. Being right is like being free. Floating on the breeze, rising above it all. Soaring on the glory. You could float above the mountains on the feeling of being right."

"Are you trying to hypnotize me, Patrick?" she asked, her words heavy.

"No, I know better than that," he asked, keeping his tones soft. He cradled her gently from the side as her body became looser. "I'm just trying to relax you. Remind you of how nice it is to be right. It feels good. It feels safe. Relaxing. Quiet. Like that airy sensation when you're about to fall asleep and everything feels so right."

"And you're holding me," she said.

"Yes, and I'm holding you like I do every night because you're so right for me. Relax, Reza. Just relax and be calm."

A slight hum escaped her and she said calmly. "Okay, Patrick, now I _know_ you're trying to hypnotize me. What's going on?"

"Reza, I think you're suffering from a mild heart attack," he answered.

She started to sit up, but he grabbed her wrist firmly. "Relax, relax…it will be okay."

When she stopped her upward motion, he sighed inwardly.

"Patrick, it's just muscle ache. I've had it since I got up this morning."

"I know, Reza, I know. Just lay here a moment until the ambulance arrives."

"Ambulance?"

Then she struggled to sit up and he placed his arm in an arc across the front of her shoulders with a gentle but undeniable firmness. There was no way in hell she was going to win in this battle of the wills. Just like he eventually talked her into living with him. Just like he would eventually talk her into reconsidering marriage and allow him to propose to her again. He'd get his way more immediately this time, but he'd get his way.

"Patrick, no, I can't go to the hospital. I have a directors' meeting this afternoon. And Annie is making lasagna. You love her lasagna."

"And you hate directors' meetings," he countered. "This will make a great excuse to miss it. 'Sorry, Gale, I really hated to miss your meeting, but I had to go check to see if I have coronary artery disease.'"

She chuckled a little and relaxed against him again.

"And besides, the doctors will tell me I'm wrong because they're so much smarter than me, and we'll be home in plenty of time for warm toasted garlic bread."

The rattle of a rolling gurney came up the hall and Rick from security pushed open the door. Patrick helped Reza to her feet and as the transport rolled to a halt, he took her into his arms for a tender kiss.

"I love you, Teresa Lisbon," he whispered as they hugged. "You're my entire life and I want to take care of you."

"You're coming with me, right?" Her voice shook. His badass boss was reduced to being a trembling child. It broke his heart.

"Absolutely, absolutely," he assured her as he helped her into the hall and onto the gurney. "I'll even talk my way into riding in back with you." As the EMTs buckled the last of the straps, he gestured towards the elevator.

* * *

**TBC: Left Hand on Red Circle, Right Foot on Blue**


	20. Left Hand Red, Right Foot Blue

**I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload.**

* * *

He paced the ER waiting area, finally allowing his worry to express itself.

The room was empty. Apparently Tuesday afternoon was not the high time for emergency room visits. Good thing he was alone. At the moment he felt mean enough to pinch babies and kick puppies.

Why the hell was he such a problem to her? Yes, this heart attack had started overnight, although he hadn't seen any symptoms as they were going through their morning routine, but it certainly hadn't helped that he made her day so stressful. Hell, he made her entire life stressful! What bloody good did he ever do her?

He leaned on the wall against outstretched arms, panting to relieve his anger, tempted to smash his head against the painted cinder blocks. She'd be pissed if he hurt himself in despair, but hey, maybe they'd put him in the exam room next to hers so he could be with her.

"Uncle Patrick!"

He turned just in time to catch Annie falling into his arms, sobbing her heart out. As he held her close, he met Cho's eyes. "Thank you, Kimball."

"Sure," Cho replied. "I also called Grace, Wayne and Bertram. Grace is in Napa on a fraud case, but she'll be here as soon as she can. Bertram put Wayne in charge while Boss is out of the office."

Patrick grimaced. Gale Bertram was a damned fool and also a cold-hearted bastard to keep Rigsby away from his friends at a time like this. Cho had probably been his first choice, but there was no way in hell Cho would agree to go back to the office.

"I'll keep Wayne updated when we hear something."

"No, I got your back, man," Cho said. "You just worry about yourself and Annie." He touched the young woman on the arm and turned to approach the admittance desk.

Patrick held her more tightly. Poor Annie. Her dad had been dead less than a year. Her Uncle James was no longer talking to her. Her aunt was struck down with a heart attack.

"It'll be all right," he assured her. It was stupid to say and it probably didn't do any good. Why did lying seem to come so natural to him? He felt like the biggest prick in Sacramento. Reza probably despised him for almost killing her.

_Stop it. Reza would probably smack me for thinking that way._

He _did_ do her good. Since they'd openly declared their love for one another, he'd seen such wondrous things in Reza's personality. Yes, she was still the toughest supervisor to work under and her tenacity to get the job done created real drive within every unit under her command. But her passion for life increased ten-fold. There was a smile on her face almost all the time…except when he'd done something that tripped up her day.

Still, she always gave him credit for the overall high closed-case rate for their department, but unlike her, he'd examined the increased success for the various teams objectively. Units he had never interacted with were showing vast improvement, all because Lisbon was now in charge.

He could only take credit for one thing: she was in charge because he'd helped her find Red John.

Okay, two things: they loved each other. Being alone was the worst thing for a struggling human to endure, and the power of two didn't just double the power of one. When the power of two was set in motion, it was limitless. Together he and Reza soared. He could never go back to being only the power of one and he would never allow her to either.

"She'll be all right," he said out loud, not sure anymore who he was reassuring.

"Yeah, she will, man," Cho said, returning from the desk. "They said you did everything you were supposed to."

Annie turned to stare at the Asian man just as Patrick did. Cho continued.

"You read the signs, gave her aspirin, kept her calm, and talked her into going to the hospital. Classic admittance, they called it. You saved her life, Jane." Deep emotion washed over Cho's face. "Thank you."

Patrick froze, transfixed by the news. He wanted to collapse. Or grin foolishly. He wanted to sob, scream or praise the random ways of the universe for its mercy.

Instead he smiled and gave Cho a nod.

Once again Annie collapsed against him, repeatedly sobbing "thank you, thank you" into his chest. Finally, Patrick felt like he'd done Reza some good.

As Cho turned to find a seat, Patrick motioned for him to come closer.

"Regarding the Olivehurst crime scene," he whispered. "Have Ainsley and Caruda check both the victim's and Lloyd-Bellinger's computers or tablets or phones for child pornography, probably hidden behind a partition or whatever Ainsley does with these computers. I suspect our talentless sculptor was blackmailing the senator's son for his part in an internet ring. He wanted the money to build a wing onto his gallery. When Standler wouldn't pay and probably threatened to expose the extortion, Lloyd-Bellinger killed him."

Cho stared a moment. "And what do the rug tassels have to do with the blackmail or the murder?"

"Oh… nothing. I just wanted to get back there to see if the guy had the rocks to leave that tasteless piece of crap sculpture on semi-public display."

Kimball Cho heaved a sign and shook his head. "Sometimes you're one strange dude, Jane."

Patrick gave him a broad grin. Cho pulled his phone out and hit a speed dial setting.

"I'll have Ainsley retrieve Standler's computers and Caruda will try to get the warrant for Lloyd-Bellinger's based on what Ainsley finds," he said, walking away.

Annie lifted her head and stared at Uncle Patrick. She looked confused and somewhat hurt. He led her to nearby seats and sat next to her.

"You know by now, being a cop means the job intrudes into your personal life. Think about that while you're pursuing a career in law enforcement. "

"But…but…even now? I mean, Aunt Reese almost died!"

"No, my dear, she didn't. We know that now. It really was only a mild heart attack, and she's going to be fine."

To the young woman's dubious expression, he nodded with encouragement. "You have to learn to adapt to new realities," he said. "When something turns out well, grab it and run. I've learned the hard way that living in the past means you miss what _can be_ lived in the future."

The bitterness of his advice overwhelmed him with the irony. He did wish he hadn't wasted so many years loving Reza from afar, but he loved her now and she loved him. Regrets didn't add or subtract from the quality of their life together. It was best to push them aside. The sooner Annie absorbed this life lesson, the happier her life would be. After all, it was presented by the poster boy for the Problem with Living In Regret

"So…what happens now? I mean…will she just go back to work tomorrow like nothing happened? Or is she going to have to quit?"

"No doubt they'll keep her here a few days to run tests and keep an eye on her." He scanned his memory a moment, trying to recall what he'd read about heart health a few years ago as it related to a case. "Depending upon the results, she could be on medical leave for a few weeks or a couple months. If she's just medicated, she'll be back to work by the end of the month. If they decide to do surgery, it will be longer. We'll just have to wait to see what the nurse says.

"You know, I think I'm going to need your help keeping her on track of a good health regime. Would you be willing to sit in when we have coaching classes on how to live a healthier lifestyle? We're all going to have to take better care of ourselves."

Her eyes widened, so he put his hand on her arm and squeezed.

"Listen… she's going to be scared… and maybe even grumpy and depressed. Even though it will be all right to show that you're scared with her, try to be strong and supportive. She's going to be very worried about you as well as herself. Don't hover… but don't ignore that this is a serious situation."

The gravity of his words clouded the young woman's eyes, but then that 'Lisbon determination' came up to bolster her resolve. She nodded firmly.

_That's my girl! Do us proud…_

* * *

**TBC: Red Balls?**


	21. Red Balls?

**Okay, okay, I couldn't resist the title for this chapter. Gave me the giggles.**

* * *

**I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload.**

* * *

While still in the waiting room, they were joined by a Mexican family who brought Grandma in to be treated for severe flu symptoms. The trio of restless youngsters in the group created a handling problem for Dad while Mom was acting as an interpreter between Grandma and the ER staff. Patrick encouraged Annie to first entertain the kids with the sleight of hand coin tricks he'd taught her and then teach the kids how to do the tricks themselves. It would pass the time for all of them, plus give some peace and quiet to Patrick, Kimball and Dad. Kimball assisted by donating the quarters.

As Patrick watched, his mind wandered back to the lesson he'd been trying to instill in Annie. He knew nothing was as simple as he presented it to her, but it was something for the young woman to hold onto.

Unfortunately the future was no longer as simple for Reza and him as it once had seemed. He desperately wanted to marry Reza, even though she told him 'not yet'. He clung to the idea that it wasn't a straight 'no', but the delay was also worrying because he had entertained the idea that perhaps they could still have children together. They weren't _that_ old, after all.

That dream was gone now. Despite having only minor heart disease, she would probably be prohibited by her doctors from bearing a child. And he wouldn't risk it anyway. Her life was much too important to him.

He heaved a deep sigh and crossed his legs. Sometimes the speed of his brain astonished even himself. He concluded that he'd have to get a vasectomy.

Reza would stop taking the Pill; she'd have to. It was detrimental to women with heart disease. And when she thought about it later, she'd probably conclude that their sex life was over – heart patients often did at first – but he knew they _would_ be able to make love again. However, they had to guarantee safety from pregnancy, and nothing would do that completely except making himself seed-free.

He was a coward when it came to making concessions that surrendered all his options. It made him feel trapped. He'd always understood that about himself. So why was he immediately accepting of having a vasectomy? Maybe because he'd once before believed it was too late for him, that he'd never again have a lasting impact on the world because his only child had been taken.

Or maybe because now he knew he had made a difference already. Watching Annie confidently handle the kids –being good with the public, an important cop thing – was an instance of the many ways this was true.

And most importantly, Reza was alive.

He leaned back and crossed his legs the other way. _Hope it doesn't hurt too much…_

* * *

Just as they were told Reza had been assigned to a room, Grace arrived, so she accompanied them all through the hospital, getting an update as they went.

Reza's primary physician stipulated only two visitors each for a limited amount of time, so Annie and Patrick went first.

Reza looked wan and tired and irritated. The bed was angled so she sat up, but with wires and tubes springing out of her like an electronic porcupine, she was definitely suffering discomfort. Despite his expecting her to look ridden hard and put away wet, it gave him pause.

Annie held herself together well, even though the sight of a weak and weary Aunt Reese was upsetting. He was very proud of her.

"They said I can't go home yet," Reza groused immediately.

"Do you honestly _think_ you can go home, you stubborn woman?" he asked, going to her side and taking her right hand. "The television stations aren't any better there than here."

The gentle teasing was reassuring and they exchanged a smile to say they both knew it.

"The food is better there," she said, placing her left hand on her stomach. "I was looking forward to the warm, toasted garlic bread that someone promised me."

He mocked her pouting lower lip by sticking out his own but then leaned over and kissed her softly on her dry, cool lips. "Sorry I couldn't keep my promise, dear lady. Although it is a fact that garlic is good for heart health. Maybe you could ask for some in the watery gruel they're bringing for your evening meal."

She laughed, although it seemed to drain her.

"I'm sorry I ruined dinner, Annie. Your lasagna is so delicious. I was looking forward to it."

"It's okay, Aunt Reese. Sometimes things just happen."

A little color came Reza's face and she looked around the room, searching for something to focus on. Patrick caressed her hair and tucked a loose strand behind her ear. "Grace and Kimball are here to see you. Wayne will be along in twenty minutes or so. The staff doesn't want us to wear you out, so they're asking us to limit our visit to a few minutes."

"Sure… I guess…"

Then he realized that she wouldn't look at Annie. Something was bothering her that she couldn't discuss.

"I'm sorry, Annie," Patrick said, "but could you go out and tell Van Pelt that Rigsby is probably on his way? I forgot to mention it to her."

"Uh…sure."

The moment the door closed, he leaned in. "It's going to take her about a minute before she returns. What did you want to say to me?"

Reza blinked at him and then closed her eyes, exhaling.

"I told the staff that you're my husband, so you'd be allowed to stay with me, because I don't want you to leave me tonight, but I can't ask you to stay because that means Annie will have to be all by herself and I can't do that to her because it will be just too hard on her after Tommie's death and –"

"Lisbon, breathe," he said, taking a firm hold of her wrist. "At least put a _few_ periods in the middle of all those phrases, woman."

She looked at him a moment and finally let out a chuckle. "Go home, Jane."

"In good time," he replied. "I'm allowed a ten-minute visit, and I'm going to use all of it." He gave her another soft kiss. "So… husband, eh?"

It was adorable the way she rolled her eyes. Why did he always find her so adorable when she was embarrassed about something? Probably because it was usually him who was affecting her. No one else seemed able to bring forth that particular emotional response any more.

"I knew you wouldn't let that pass."

He heard voices immediately outside the door. This was a good opportunity to make her less melancholy for him and have part of her _want_ him to leave. She was going to be sedated most of the night anyway. She'd be okay without him.

"How can I?" he asked in regular tones. "It's like a fantasy of mine. Sort of like when you come to bed wearing that red velvet corset and the black—"

The door open and Annie entered the room followed by a nurse. He burst out laughing at the success in making her blush.

"Honestly, Patrick," she kvetched. "You'd think you would be nicer to a sick person."

He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed the knuckles lightly. "You're going to be fine, my dear. Little less coffee, a little less stress. More exercise…"

"I already exercise," she protested.

"Sex doesn't count as exercise unless we do more of it."

She pulled her hand away and crossed her arms. "Get out. You're embarrassing your niece."

The nurse crossed to one of the machines and prepared some of the leads to hook up to Reza's existing wiring. Time for more tests. Maybe he should tone it down a bit.

"You're right, my love, but she knows as well as you do that I'm just teasing. I'll see you in the morning…my good wife."

Calling her 'wife' brought a twinge of sadness to her expression, which he fought from coming to his. He bent over to kiss her tenderly – once, twice, three times. By the last kiss, she was reaching her lips for his as much as his reached for hers.

"I love you," they said simultaneously.

"Things will look brighter in the morning, Teresa," he said. "You'll see."

* * *

**TBC: Red Tracers**


	22. Red Tracers

**I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload.**

* * *

With a gesture to Annie for her to stay with her aunt, Patrick left the room. When the door closed, he stopped and closed his eyes, desperate to get the lump out of his throat and the speed of his heart back under control. He leaned against the wall and took a deep breath.

Strength. Reza needed him. He couldn't be anything but what she needed. Things really would be all right.

He opened his eyes at the sound of footsteps and straightened immediately.

Grace approached, as usual with her heart on her sleeve. Her face was a twist of concern and pain, slightly pale and full of a desire to act however she could to make things right. A wannabe superhero without a cape. Patrick knew exactly how she felt.

"Jane, are you all right?"

"Never better. Just a little tired. The adrenalin's wearing off."

She took him in a big hug and Patrick tried to relax in her hold. Grace was almost family but he still didn't like to hug people. Only Reza and Annie were permitted intimate embrace. He suspected that he'd granted Annie permission because he knew her as a child when she had no guiles to hide, whereas even the most innocent adult had hidden areas beyond his ken.

Grace released him after a few moments, apparently sensing his resistance. She studied his face, giving him an awkward smile. Patrick held her by her upper arms and rubbed them briefly.

"Thank you, my friend. Why don't you go in? She'll be very glad to see you."

"Are you staying here tonight?"

"I can't. I need to take care of Annie. She's being strong for…her Aunt Reese, but she can't be alone tonight."

Still Grace stared at him. "I don't think you can be either."

Touched by her concern, he gave a sincere smile. "I'll be fine because I know Reza will be fine."

"Reza?"

"Lisbon."

Grace still felt part of his inner circle, but not knowing his nickname for Teresa was like a mileage chart indicating the distance between them. Sometimes he forgot how working in San Francisco had taken her out of their friendship. It saddened him a little.

"How's the relationship with Wayne going?"

Her face twitched as her mouth dropped open. Within seconds she recovered. Grace had matured as a cop.

"Quite an abrupt change in subject, Jane," she said in a firm voice.

Busted. Yep, Grace was really good. Still… no point in exposing how well she'd done.

"Just trying to catch up. It's been a while—Tommie's funeral luncheon, I think. Besides, I've always felt you two should be together. If anything else good can come from Red John's death, that might be on the list."

"I could say the same thing about you and Lisbon."

He laughed sincerely and nodded. "Indeed, Grace. Well… you convince Reza to get over her fear of commitment and I'll convince Wayne."

She raised her left hand, wiggling her third finger. It was decorated with a simple and modest diamond ring. "Now I know you're troubled to distraction, Patrick, if you didn't see this."

Yes, she was right. A day before, a beautiful engagement ring on her hand wouldn't have escaped his notice. Another acknowledgement of how unreal the day was feeling.

"Well, Wayne's an old dog," he said with a grin. "He didn't say anything. When did this happen?"

"Sunday, after church. We went out for brunch and he just sprang it on me."

"Ah, and I haven't seen him much because his team is tied up with the Feds on the Marponzi Racketeering case." He kissed her on the cheek. "Best wishes, Grace. Looking forward to receiving the invitation."

"Absolutely. And I'm looking forward to one from you."

She looked so smug, like she knew she had him in a corner. He smiled smugly in return, digging into his vest's watch pocket and pulling out a custom-made but elegant ring.

"I've been carrying this since the first time I asked her."

_Vindication!_ Grace's look of mortification made him feel better.

"She said no? Why the hell would she say no? She's loved you since… like… forever!"

"Me?"

"Well… maybe not 'forever' but yes, for a long while. So, did you not do it right?"

"Down on my knee in the rose gardens at the Sacramento Botanical Gardens. Hired a violinist to spring out from behind a bush."

It was funny to him how much comfort he got from Grace's disappointment. Knowing he had someone in his corner made him feel better about being rejected, even though he'd already assured himself it was a temporary situation.

"What exactly did she say?"

"She said 'not yet'… which is promising, of course…"

To this, Grace grinned broadly. "Oh, so she didn't say no." She took the ring from his hand and examined it, making a low whistle. She then tucked it into his watch pocket for him. "When was your first date?"

"The day after… uhm…Red John died."

"Oooh, so it's not quite a year ago. Okay, try again next month."

"Why wait until next month?"

"Because… some women have a thing about not marrying guys they've dated less than a year. Boss—Lis—Ter—Reza… might be one of those. Or… try after the anniversary of when you first … you know, slept together. It's one of those…female quirks."

The blush to her face was amusing and he couldn't resist trying to make it worse.

"Well, there was one time we were on a stake out with Cho and we both fell asleep in the back seat. Does that count?"

Instead of being tripped up, she laughed softly. "No, Jane. You know I'm taking about sex. Try again on the anniversary of that. I know you know how to be beguiling. I bet you can think of a dozen ways to sweep her off her feet. Put her favorite song on the iPod. Cover her with rose petals. Whatever."

"Is that what Rigsby had to do?"

She grinned and shook her head. "No, but poor Wayne had already worked hard enough for it. His best attribute for romance is being straight forward and entirely open."

_Pot, calling kettle with heart on sleeve_… Patrick suppressed a smile.

"Teresa sees you always charming your way into whatever you pursue and then getting it, so she'll make you earn it. Any woman with her amount of smarts should."

"I fear you're right," Patrick admitted. He gave her another peck on the cheek before gesturing toward the door with his head. "Go in to see her. I'll wait out here for Wayne so I can give him hell for not consulting with me on how to charm you with a grand proposal. Maybe he can make it up with a quality honeymoon."

"You do that."

She entered the room and Patrick went to the visitors lounge near the elevator where he took a seat next to Kimball.

"What was that all about? You all right?"

"Never better… The day is just getting too long, that's all." He put his head back and sighed. "And I still need to call Reza's brother. Tell him what's going on."

"What's the problem? It's not like she's dead."

He glanced at Cho before staring at the ceiling.

"The last time James spoke to me, he called me a 'thieving son of a bitch'. His last words to me actually."

After a moment, Cho asked, "So? That describes you perfectly. Besides, most men don't get along with their in-laws…or future in-laws."

Patrick smiled. Cho had seen him show Grace the ring. He liked that he didn't have to explain the obvious to the man. Good cop.

"Besides, family trauma often mends fences. Especially if you put sufficient effort into fixing things. Set it up like you're running a con. Instead of money, you seek family support for Lisbon."

These weren't things Patrick needed explained to him, but it was strangely reassuring to hear them, all the same. Support was a valuable commodity.

He took out his phone and started to dial. Then he glanced at Cho and brought the ring out of his pocket, holding it out for him to take.

"Someday," he said, dialing the last digit.

Cho examined the ring and nodded before handing it back. "Nice job, Patrick. Make sure I get an invitation." Standing, he granted the world one of his closely guarded smiles. "I'll get you some tea while you make the call."

* * *

The conversation with James started out predictably cold but quickly warmed when Patrick explained the situation. He answered as many questions as he could and assured James that he didn't need to come right away. James said he understood and asked if a visit within the next few weeks would be appreciated if he could arrange it. Patrick was relieved that James was willing to reach out like that and said he'd make sure it happened.

James had some surprising information that he doubted his sister knew. The Lisbon family health history indicated a pre-disposition for heart disease. James himself had been diagnosed within the last three months because of unstable angina and was medicated by his physician. With some digging into the family tree, he discovered short-lived relatives and current living cousins from the maternal side were also diagnosed with the disease.

Although irritated that James hadn't shared this when he first discovered it, Patrick was vastly and selfishly relieved. Yes, he was a pain-in-the-ass to the love of his life, but he didn't cause her condition.

Contributed a little, maybe, but he didn't cause it.

Now he was going to devote himself to her recovery. Well…he was going to anyway. He loved her, after all.

But now he could do it without guilt.


	23. Red Faced Confession

**I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload. **

* * *

_Two months later_

Patrick panted, squinting against the sweat that dripped into his eyes. With every breath his lungs burned and his back ached. The exertion was worth the reward, of course, although he was starting to wonder about his age for such physical demands. His pride forced him to keep going, staying with it until Reza reached the finish line she was striving for.

He looked at her: the rapt concentration, the perspiration shaken off her skin as she moved up and down, bouncing along with her efforts, her hair plastered in a disheveled mass on her head. She looked like she'd never need to stop. Her face was slack except for occasionally swallowing against the dry mouth caused by heavy breathing.

_God, Reza, what you're doing to me…_

A groan escaped him and she smiled, not opening her eyes. "Not long, Patrick, not long now."

Finally his machine beeped the cool down phase of their workout, followed a few second later by hers. The belt beneath his feet slowed and he almost jumped off the treadmill so he could kiss non-moving ground. Instead he supported himself on the rails and allowed the machine to set his new pace. She tossed his towel at him where it landed on his shoulder, then picked up hers to dab at her face and neck, drawing deep breaths as she took long strides.

"Honestly, Patrick, your endurance during workouts just doesn't match your endurance in bed."

Reflexively he glanced around the condo complex workout room, despite knowing it was still empty of any of their neighbors.

"My brain was better engaged when I made love to you, my dear," he countered. "All I can think about while we're working out is how much pain I'm in."

"Yes… well…" She picked up her water bottle and squirted sports drink into her mouth. "I think I'm recovered enough that… that we can engage your brain in that manner again."

_Awkward_. "I…can't think of a better use of my brain."

"So…why… have you been spending a lot of time on only your side of the bed, then?"

"Because you accuse me of always hogging the covers?"

"Deflecting, Patrick."

He brought his water to his lips and sucked slowly.

"You were the one who insisted I talk to Dr. Gallagher about having sex after my heart attack. He gave us the 'all clear'. You were there."

"Yes, but…" He clamped his teeth lightly on his bottom lip as he set his bottle back in the holder.

"But what, Patrick?"

"We need to talk…about you being off the Pill… and what to do about preventing you from getting pregnant."

"I already stopped at the pharmacy—"

"I was thinking of something a little more…permanent…to prevent it."

She stepped off to either side of the moving belt and shut it off. When he looked at her, she was staring at him. Her brows twitched in an effort to control her emotions. Even her lower lip was trembling.

"What do you mean? You… you don't want to h-h-have sex with me anymore? Is that why you've been avoiding getting close to me for the past month?"

He stopped, stunned, and got pushed off the end of the treadmill, falling into a crumpled heap.

"Patrick!"

She was at his side in a moment, helping him orient himself and sit up from the floor.

"Ow…" he mumbled, holding his head.

"Are you all right? God, what happened?"

"Well… I lost track of my feet. Really? You think I don't want to make love to you anymore?"

"But you said you want to make it permanent!"

"God, woman, no! I mean that I need to make _me_ permanent. I have an appointment to get a vasectomy."

Her jaw dropped open.

"On Thursday," he added softly.

"No!" she said, grabbing his arm in both hands. He winced at her strength and she let go. "You can't do that. I-I-I want…"

She rose to her feet and hauled him up after her like he was perp she needed to cuff.

"What the hell are you talking about, Jane?"

Oo she was upset, reverting to CBI names.

"Don't call me 'Jane' when talking about sex. I'll get confused at work."

Narrowing her eyes at him, she turned off his machine and picked up his towel and their water bottles. "Upstairs," she commanded. "_Patrick_."

* * *

**TBC: Red Haze of Anger**


	24. Red Haze of Anger

**I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload. **

* * *

She was still fuming when they entered their condo on the tenth floor. She threw their water bottles into the kitchen sink and tossed the towels onto the counter, all the while glaring at him. When she stomped into the living room, he waited a minute before following her. He found her pacing behind the leather sofa. Applying her usual tell for needing control, she turned crisply at each end, striding the ten-foot length quickly.

_Yeah, I probably should have discussed this ahead of time._

"You started to say that I can't do this?" he asked softly. "I really think I can. It's what I want to do."

"What about what _I_ want?" she demanded, stopping and staring at him. Her expression was livid and her jaw twitched as she clenched her teeth.

"Hey, if you want to die in childbirth, you're going to have to find a sperm donor," he said, settling into the lounge chair facing the fireplace. "I'm not going to kill you just to make a baby."

Her color drained and she leaned against the back of the sofa. He started to rise to help her, but she waved him back. Stiffly she came around the far end of the couch and sat right in the middle of the long leather expanse, looking small and forlorn.

"I didn't even realize." Her voice came in a whisper, cracking a little on the multisyllabic word. "I didn't think through everything that I lost because of this heart attack… I can't have your baby, Patrick. Ever."

To his surprise she broke into quiet tears before burying her face in her hands. He went to her side to hold her. When he touched her, she sobbed.

_She _wanted_ to have my baby? Hell, she won't even marry me!_

"I'm so sorry, Patrick," she cried, practically wailing, as she clung to him. "I-I wanted to… maybe somehow give you…"

The despair in her voice cut through his irritation, and he shook his head.

"You've given me everything I could ever hope for, Reza. A baby wouldn't make life any more perfect. Please don't cry over something that doesn't need to be mourned."

"What's going on?"

Patrick looked over at the sound of Annie's voice. She approached from the hall to her bedroom.

"Uh…Aunt Reese is… uh… unhappy."

Reza lifted her head at the sound and pulled out of his arms, struggling to bring herself together.

"I heard something about a baby." Annie said. "Aunt Reese, are you pregnant?"

"No, Annie, it's all right. Just…no, I'm not pregnant, and I'm not going to be. Just…we're sorry to be discussing this out here. Just…We didn't know you came home while we were down at the gym. Just…We'll stop now."

With that she stood and entered the kitchen. He heard the electronic igniter on the stove and then the tea kettle as it clunked onto a burner.

Annie looked at him questioning, but he shook his head. She narrowed her eyes in frustration – a familiar gesture that she learned from Reza - and turned to follow her aunt, saying something in a soft voice that he couldn't make out.

"It's got nothing to do with you, Annie! Just… Mind your own business!"

"Fine!"

The young woman stomped back out of the kitchen, tossing a frown at him as she turned towards her room. He stood and entered the kitchen. Reza was at the stove with her back to him. There were two tea cups next to her hand which was tapping the counter rapidly.

"So…about Thursday," he said. "Obviously I did some research and talked to my doctor. He recommended that I make a few deposits for cryopreservation… just in case I change my mind. Maybe the next time we have a fight and I should suddenly want to murder you, I can have you artificially inseminated. I don't know how practical that would be as a murder weapon but it would be a first for the CBI."

He hoped it would make her laugh. It didn't. She glanced over her shoulder at him but turned back to the kettle on the burner. Tapping on the counter slowed.

"The deposits were really easy to make, by the way," he said. "They gave me dirty magazines and put me in a room by myself."

"Magazines?" she asked softly. The tapping stopped momentarily but resumed, slower still and a little less emphatically.

"Yeah, I started to tell them to keep 'em, since I have a special Teresa Lisbon memory palace full of the times we've made love in the past year. In the end, I just took what they offered because explaining about a memory palace is a bit tedious. And then to explain that all the rooms contained the same person over and over again… well, it was just easier to take the Hustlers."

The tapping stopped completely. "How… how… long will the surgery take?"

"Twenty minutes. Maybe half an hour. Forty-five minutes if I'm really unlucky."

"Outpatient? Really?"

"Yes, really, just short-term localize anesthetic. Although I'll be… out of commission for a week or so, they said. And after that, we'll have to take extra precautions for a while. It takes a bit of time to get the little buggers out of the system. Twenty ejaculations is normal."

She looked over her shoulder again, but there was a slight smile on her face.

"I guess it only takes one little bugger, eh?"

"Only one very determined bugger to get you pregnant, yes. The doctor's office will test me every few weeks starting in about a month to tell me when I'm finally clear."

The kettle started its low soft tone, so she shut off the flame and poured water into the cups. After dunking the bags a few times, she brought them to where he stood at the breakfast bar.

"You want some tea?" she asked softly.

"I want you to be all right with the choice I made."

"_You_ made," she muttered. Then she admitted, "I understand it. I just wish you'd talked to me."

"Would it have changed anything?"

"Yes. I wouldn't feel so separated from you about it. Kinda cheated."

_Oh…Yes, I am a first-class heel._

"Sorry, Reza….I think…I was just afraid you'd try to talk me out of it." He pushed the tea out of the way and leaned his forearms on the counter, dropping his head. "There's no other way around this. I love you. I want to make love to you for as long as you'll have me. I can't risk losing you to… to an avoidable death."

"So you're willing to have your balls cut off so you won't make babies." She said it between clenched teeth.

He winced. "You know that's not how it works."

Her hand rested on his back and moved it in a circle. "No, that's _not_ how it works. That was crude and insensitive. I'm sorry."

_Ah. So she accepts that this is going to happen. Thinking she needs to apologize for what I'll be facing._

"I've been planning this for months – since your heart attack. I knew from the start that it's the right answer." He looked at her and then straightened. "Teresa Lisbon, I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I need to marry you. I know it's stupid—"

She scoffed. "'Stupid'?"

He rolled his eyes. "I mean…I know I shouldn't put such emotional investiture on a ceremony just so we can continue doing what we're doing… I mean, it won't change how we feel about one another, right?"

"Yes, Patrick."

"Right. So, if it's not going to—"

"No, I mean 'yes, Patrick, I'll marry you'."

The shock through his system almost dropped him on the spot. He stared at the mischief and happiness glowing in her eyes while wondering if he'd ever seen anything more beautiful.

"This… this… isn't exactly how I wanted you to say 'yes', Reza, with me all sweaty and—"

"And with me in control of the situation instead of you?" Even the smirk that came to her face was beautiful.

"Oh… you vixen," he grinned. "Don't you just think you know me?"

"Don't I, though?"

He took her in his arms and kissed her, insistently pushing his tongue between her sweet lips. Of their own volition, his hands traveling from her shoulders to her ass, her warmth infusing him with instant passion. Her tongue met his, caressing and stroking, sweet as it had ever been, although tinged a little with her lemon-lime sports drink. An electric shiver ran through him when her hands slid around his waist and onto his back. Her fingertips traced his spine in the furrow between his muscles, pressing lightly in the small of his back, triggering the nerve that seemed connected to every pleasure center in his groin. Ah, yes, she knew how to get what she wanted from him…

"Oh, honestly! Guys? You promised!"

They jumped apart, diverting their gazes from Annie who stood in the doorway, her arms akimbo and her face twisted in mild disgust. Yes, they had promised no sex in the common areas in front of her. The one time she came home during some heavy petting on the dining room table was embarrassing enough.

"Sorry… Annie," Reza said. "Uhm… Uncle Patrick asked me to marry him… and I said 'yes'."

The young woman let out a loud whoop and took her aunt in a big bear hug that she also pulled him into.

"Thank God! Finally! What took so damn long?"

Reza looked at him and he winked in return.

"I'm a coward, Annie. Fortunately, your aunt is a very patient woman."

* * *

**TBC: Red Balls Too**


	25. Red Balls Too

_**Poor Patrick! That's gotta hurt...**_

* * *

**I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload. **

* * *

_Thursday afternoon_

Reza had volunteered to accompany him to his appointment, but that morning there was a multi-fatality gang war shootout in Fresno with innocent bystanders involved. The Governor's office pulled all available state law enforcement to the scene, to help manage evidence, witnesses, and of course, make a show for the press that the State was doing its best to bring the criminals responsible to justice.

Being called away was heartbreaking for her, and it took fast talking to prevent her choosing to get fired for disobeying Governor Hallenbright's direct order. It was a bit of a relief for him because he didn't want her to see him if he was in pain, which he suspected he would be despite the lingering effects of the anesthetics and his best efforts to control with biofeedback.

The ride home sucked because the cab kept hitting potholes, jarring Patrick's tender sensibilities even with the secure bandage wrapped around him. To distract himself, Patrick composed a letter of complaint in his head, directed to the Department of Streets and Sanitation for Sacramento. It was full of exclamation points.

The building lobby and the elevator ride were empty so he wasn't stopped by neighbors to chat. Normally he enjoyed it, exercising his skills to get the real updates on the building residents, but at the moment, he probably would have let slip some sardonic observations about his understanding of their truth.

He limped into the living room and set his antibiotics and the chemical cold packs on the coffee table next to the bottles of water he had set out before he left. Then he retrieved the hidden potato chips he'd stashed in the pantry behind the sugar and made a thermos of tea before settling on the sofa. Activating the cold pack, he applied it as directed. As requested before she left, he called Reza to tell her he made it home just fine. When he asked about the gang war. She stated that things were under better control and she'd be home for dinner the next day. Reassured by the love in her voice, he hung up and stretched out to watch the independent film channel on cable.

* * *

He awoke with the start when the TV shut off. Sharp jolts shot through his groin, and he grunted, trying to relax the pain.

"Sorry I woke you, Uncle Patrick," Annie said sincerely, setting the TV remote on the table. Then she gestured to the items he'd set within reach. "Are you okay? What's all this?"

"What are you doing home?" he asked. The room was brightly lit with natural light still pouring through the windows; he hadn't been asleep long. Maybe two hours?

"Two of my profs have family in Fresno where all that shooting took place, so my classes got canceled because they were going to check on them. On top of that, my study partner has the flu, so I just came home before crosstown traffic got too bad."

"Sounds reasonable," he said.

At the moment he wanted her to leave so he could swap out the cold pack. Instead she stared at him, looking back and forth between him and the prescription on the table. Then she scooped up the empty chips bag and held it out to him.

"I'm telling Aunt Reese," she threatened, shaking the evidence of his dietary transgression.

He chuckled and gingerly sat up. "She bought them for me," he said, carefully setting his feet on the floor. "Just for today."

"Okay, what's wrong?"

_Ten years ago I would have lied my way out of discussing anything personal…_

"Meh…just a little surgery," he said, picking up another ice pack and activating it.

"Surgery? What happened? Are you okay?"

She sat down and looked him over. No doubt the presence of his usual three-piece suit was confusing her. Lining up his next admission, he took the pillow he'd been lying on and placed it on his lap.

_Ten years ago I wouldn't be in the situation of avoiding telling someone I had a vasectomy. If the question of permanent birth control even came up, it would have been Ang debating tubular ligation over IUDs, not whether _I_ would have to give up anything._

"Well…your aunt and I decided that because of her heart condition, it would be best if she never got pregnant. Frankly, accidents happen, so…"

It was hard to keep a straight face as her gaze darted toward his crotch and jerked away. It was also difficult for him not to feel embarrassed, and he fought against it by reminding himself that what he and Reza had done was the most responsible option.

"Yes," he said plainly. "Like the saying goes, 'it takes two to tango', so we decided that one of us would have to take off our dancing shoes. It was easiest to just put mine in a closet…so to speak."

The fact that she laughed was a relief. Still, it felt a little surreal discussing the matter with a 19-year-old, even one as mature as Annie, even one as close to his heart as her.

Thoughts turned to his dead daughter Charlotte. Would he ever have been able to talk as openly with her? Probably not... but there was no way to tell. He knew better than to play skittles with the past because even the smallest divergence in one's history could lead to such a different present. Thinking 'what if' was a pointless waste of time.

Except…

He hadn't experienced a _small_ divergence. The past he'd left behind was fraught with dishonesty and fraud. No amount of love for Charlotte would overcome her eventual realization that her dad was a despicable, untrustworthy human who sold false hope to the greedy and the innocent alike. He remembered what had it been like in his own childhood to realize what his father was. It had been a big moment in his life, but not what he would recall as a proud one.

"Uncle Patrick?" Annie said softly. "Are you okay?"

Emerging from his brown study, he forced a smile onto his face and nodded at her. "Yes. The anesthetic is just making me a bit out of it."

"I should let you go back to sleep then." She stood but continued to look at him. "So, really? You and Aunt Reese won't have any kids of your own?"

"Well…unless Aunt Reese suddenly finds out that all the medical tests of the last two months have been wrong, it seems very unlikely. Her heart attack wasn't big, but it does mean that the heart strain and emotional stress involved with pregnancy are out of the question. I love her too much to even consider taking the chance."

The young woman's eyes began to water and she turned away. "It's too bad that it worked out this way, Uncle Patrick," she said softly, picking up the thermos and swirling it to gauge the fill level. "You and Aunt Reese would have been great parents." She held out the thermos. "This is empty. Do you want me to make you some more?"

Without waiting for his answer, she took his cup and the thermal bottle away to the kitchen. Quickly he swapped out the cold pack by his balls with the one he'd just activated. Then he closed his eyes, concentrating on his breathing and subduing the renewed pain.

_Great parents. Yes, Reza would have been a great mom._ He wouldn't have cared if they had a girl or a boy. Bright green eyes and dark, walnut hair like Reza and maybe curls like him. A ready laugh, inherently knowing what a miracle Life is and appreciating it like Reza and Patrick. He could see Reza pushing an adorable child on a swing; could see himself making a jumping origami frog to bring a delighted grin to a cherry-cheeked face.

The thermos thumped on the table, causing him to open his eyes. Annie settled next to him, her face awash with concern.

"Are you okay?"

He sniffled a little and wiped at his cheek, realizing that he'd been weeping. Annie found the tissue box nearby and handed it to him.

"It hurts a little," he explained, letting her interpret it how she would.

"I understand. Did you take anything for it? Can I get you something?"

He wiped his face and waved towards the pills on the table. "Got it covered."

She sat down, swallowing and searching for a place to land her gaze. "What…what about eventually reversing it? Can you do that?"

Where was she going with this? "I wouldn't need to. I…uhm… On the advice of my doctor, I froze some."

He was having trouble clearing his mind and interpreting her behavior. _Pull it together, Jane. You're getting as emotional as a mark._

"So… if you and Aunt Reece hired a surrogate… they do that, you know. There are companies that find girls to… you know, carry an implanted embryo. Dad had to find one once, when she ran away while pregnant with these people's baby…"

"Aunt Reece and I talked about it, but it can be expensive…and you have the added risk, such as your dad was working on. We're…we might look into it later." He looked at her expression and shook his head. "Now, don't get your hopes up. At the moment, we're just concentrating on getting married. Life is very complicated."

His words didn't change the look on her face, that hesitant optimism that maybe a miracle would happen. He closed his eyes and leaned back.

"Speaking of getting married, do you have a date in mind yet?"

"Saturday."

"What?!"

She grabbed his arm and he opened his eyes, grinning impishly.

"That's the date _I_ have in mind," he told her. "The date your aunt wants is still an unknown."

"You're terrible, Uncle Patrick," she said, lightly smacking his arm and standing.

"I am, I am." He shrugged. "As her maid of honor, I need you to press her a little. Tell her you have to know what to prepare for."

"Gotcha."

He put the pillow back on the sofa and gingerly stretched out again.

"Thanks for the tea."

"You're welcome," she said, taking a throw off the lounge chair and laying it over him. "I'm going to my room to work on my paper for psych class. Call if you need something."

"Could you turn the TV back on? Thanks. Appreciate it. And wake me when pizza arrives."

"Ha! Pizza! I'm telling Aunt Reese!"

He smiled to himself and pressed his head into the pillow.

_Life is too good. _

* * *

**_TBC: Red Roses, White Veils_**

_Yep, winding this story up..._


	26. Red Roses, White Veil

**I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload. **

* * *

_Eight months later_

Patrick paced, staring down at the sand kicked up by his stride. His arms were behind him, his hands clasping and unclasping.

Nearby Rigsby cleared his throat for the umpteenth time while Cho watched Patrick closely.

"She's coming, Jane. Don't worry."

Stopping, Patrick looked from his best man Cho to his lone groomsman Rigsby, then beyond the flower-festooned arch and the sea of lace-covered chairs to the wedding guests gathered in the reception area. "I know, I know."

He needed to calm down. The wedding guests were starting to look at him. Taking a deep breath, he brought his hands in front of him and put forth the appearance of calm and debonair. From the corner of his mouth, he said,

"Try calling her again, will you, Kimball?"

Just as Cho nodded and reached for his phone, Patrick spotted Grace suddenly turn toward the doorway into the hotel as if called and then hurry through the crowd. He grabbed Cho's arm.

"Something's going on. Wayne, please go find out what's happening?"

Wayne started down the aisle just as Minelli was coming up. The older man looked a little put out when Wayne didn't stop to talk with him, staring for a moment before continuing towards Patrick.

"So, Patrick, it's taken a while to get here, hasn't it?" He shook hands with him and then Cho.

"Hello, Virgil. I'm sure there's a rational explanation as to why she hasn't arrived yet…"

Minelli chuckled and then patted him on the back. "No, I was talking about this wedding. I wasn't surprised to get your invitation, but I couldn't quite figure out what took so long. To be honest, I expected to receive it the week you caught Red John."

"Oh, you know how these things go, Virgil."

It earned him a shrewd stare. "Yes, especially with Lisbon. She made you earn it, didn't she?"

Cho scoffed softly and then turned to look out over the calm water rolling gently onto Pismo Beach, wrestling his face into its customary flatness. Minelli grinned.

"I thought so. About time she got some work out of you."

"Well… the real question is did she saddle herself with a husband? Or a baby-sitting chore?"

Minelli laughed and held out his hand. Patrick shook it again.

"I'm very happy for you both. Congratulations."

_Maybe you should save it until I actually have a bride, _he thought. Instead he said, "Thank you."

Movement caught his eye and he looked over to find Wayne coming up the aisle, led by the officiant.

"Teresa has arrived, Virgil." He gestured toward the reception area. "Looks like your presence is required in the back. Kimball? Wayne?"

Rigsby gave him a significant look that he couldn't interpret fully but it was a mix of shock and irritation. Whatever had delayed Reza had dismayed him deeply. Finally Rigsby released a deep sigh and turned to follow Minelli and Cho.

Patrick greeted the young man administering the vows, thanking him sincerely. The background party music faded, replaced by the wedding planner/orchestrator requesting that everyone take a seat. When the guests were settled down, different music began, "More Than Words" the song that played the first time he was allowed to take Reza in his arms and dance with her. The song that allowed him to accept how much he truly loved her.

Grace and Wayne stepped out first as bridesmaid and groomsman, looking the perfect couple he always knew them to be, despite the many challenges they fought to overcome.

A few seconds later, his best man Kimball led Reza's maid of honor Annie down the aisle. Cho looked friendly for a change. Annie looked bashful.

Lastly, Minelli led Reza to the foot of the aisle.

Patrick fought off a change in his expression at the sight of her.

She looked beautiful, of course. In his eyes, she always was. Now it looked like she'd stepped out of his dreams, both the most erotic and the most angelic. Around her long, graceful neck was the emerald and diamond necklace he'd given her as one of his wedding presents, matched by the sparkling earrings. Her rich, antique white gown flowed over her slender, petite body. The plunging V-neckline exposed her fine white skin before attaching to a smooth band around her willowy waist, finishing in a silk satin gown draping to the floor with sophistication and elegance.

Except…

Her right arm was wrapped in gauze and a small abrasion graced her right cheek. She didn't have those when they'd parted that morning. He knew it for sure. He'd kissed that face repeatedly as they made love the night before and, giddy though he was about the great sex they were sharing, he probably would have noticed contusions on her cheekbone.

Their gaze locked for a moment before she diverted hers, blushing deeply.

His thoughts were racing. She got into a fight? How could that be? She and Annie just went to have their hair and makeup done! It's her wedding day! Was she assaulted?

His gaze darted to Annie again. Yes, there was a sense of relief mixed with a bit of embarrassment mixed with a strange sense of pride.

_Ah! Now I see…_

Minelli placed a peck on her left cheek before 'giving her away' to Patrick who took her hand and led her to the minister. Her knuckles were scraped as well, fresh wounds.

As they waited for the song to end and the ceremony to begin, Patrick leaned towards her.

"Director Lisbon, did you make the arrest?" he whispered.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and, with a smirk, said "Of course, I did, Jane. I always get my man."

"Of course, my lovely, badass supercop," he said with a grin.

* * *

The reception was like a giant game of Telephone. The story traveled from guest to guest, changing a little with each telling. Then it would get back to Reza who would have to set the story straight as well as take a little ribbing for stopping an armed robbery of a Grover Beach candy shop on her way to her wedding. The only person who had heard the facts right was Hightower, but she still teased Reza about making the bust.

It was a lovely party, a time to celebrate with existing friends as well as friends from the past. Even Trina DeGeorge, the self-defense patricide perpetrator, attended with her fiancé Gary.

* * *

Patrick snuck Reza away from the crowd to take her out to the beach in time to watch the sunset into the calm ocean. He held her close, reveling in her warmth as she snuggled inside his tuxedo jacket, resting her head on his chest. It was right. So very right. He'd never been happier.

"I still don't know how I got so lucky," he said, placing a light kiss on her head.

"Ha! Luck," she said, lifting her face to grin at him. "You chased me down, Mr. Charming. I never had a chance, did I?"

"Whether you did or not, you don't anymore," he said, teasing. "This pact is sealed."

He placed a soft kiss on her lips and then stared into her expressive green eyes which glowed with her love and acceptance. The sweetness of knowing his life was now entwined with hers filled his entire essence with a sense of completion and immense satisfaction.

"You're fiiiinally no longer just my consultant."

"And you're fiiiinally my boss."

She laughed a small scoffing giggle. "Oh, I doubt that very much, Mr. Jane," she said giving him a squeeze.

"No, really! It's true… but you're wise to be skeptical anyway, Mrs. Lisbon."

"Comes with that 'supercop' title you bestowed on me."

"Don't blame me. You earned it all by yourself."

When she placed her head back on his chest, he rested his cheek against her hair.

"That would have been a good photo to put in the wedding album," he added, teasing. "Hair done, makeup perfect, handcuffs snapping into place."

"I think Annie took one with her cellphone."

"Oh, good, we'll use it as the cover."

He could feel her face change as it pressed on his chest and he envisioned her sweet smile. His hands gently caressed over the crisscrossed strapping detail on the back of her dress, wondering with a passing thought how easily he could get her out of it when they got to their room that night.

"Patrick…?"

"Yes, my precious love?"

"You… never said if you mind I'm keeping my last name. Does it bother you? I… I can still change it, you know."

"Teresa Lisbon is a very nice name," he said. "I fell in love with Teresa Lisbon. Why would I want you to change it?"

"I was just checking."

"I've been thinking of changing mine to Lisbon," he said.

She lifted her head, staring in disturbed shock. He grinned back, watching her face as the last of the sunrays illuminated it with an orange-red glow. Her eyes documented her surprise fading into realization that he was having her on.

"Okay, point made."

"My clever lady," he murmured, bringing his lips to hers.

The sun had fully disappeared when their kiss ended, so Patrick led her on his arm back to the reception. As they approached, Annie stepped up, looking hesitant but hopeful.

"I didn't want to bother you," she said, gesturing toward the beach they'd just come from, "but I want to talk to you about my wedding present."

Reza glanced at Patrick almost with alarm before looking at her niece again.

"You didn't need to get us a present," she said, placing a gentle hand on the young woman's arm.

Annie glanced around and stepped back, gesturing for them to follow. When they were several dozen feet from the other guests, she stopped and looked at each of their faces in turn.

"I want you to use me as a surrogate mother for a baby."

Patrick's vision blurred with the instant flood of tears. He raised his gaze to the sky, fighting to push the water back, not daring to look at Reza because he knew he wouldn't be able to contain himself.

"Wh-wh-wh—?"

"I've done a lot of research into it," Annie protested quickly, trying to get her argument in before they could answer. "I even talked to your doctors. They said you can harvest your eggs with minimum danger to you. And Uncle Patrick h-h-has his… stuff frozen somewhere, right?"

Finally he looked at Reza, allowing his tears to flow. At the sight, she fell against him, crying softly at first but quickly swamping his chest. Then she seemed to realize who was responsible for her tears and brought Annie into their hug. Reza tried to speak but failed.

"Thank you," he said, speaking for both of them. "Oh, God, Annie, thank you."

* * *

**_TBC: Bright, Roseate Future_**


	27. Bright, Roseate Future

**I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload. **

* * *

_Two years later_

"Reza, Reza, Reza! Come quick! You gotta see this!"

Patrick heard her running over the wooden floor of their modest ranch home in Davis. He slid back on his knees, holding out his arms full length while supporting the unsteady weight on his index fingers. When her steps sounded close behind him, he twisted his fingers from the tiny hands. After a slight wobble, Daniel remained on his two feet. He grinned at his poppa, revealing two little white teeth. Reza gasped.

"C'mon, Danny boy…" Patrick said gently, holding out his hands and winking at his son.

First step. Second step. The third was half a fall as he grabbed Poppa's hands, but he stayed on his feet.

"Good boy, Daniel Jane!" Reza said in a high, encouraging voice. She fell on her knees beside them and Patrick helped the child into his mother's arms. As she hugged the boy, she met Patrick's gaze with watering eyes.

"You realize that this just opens a can of worms," he said plainly. "Now we're going to have to keep up with him."

She laughed in a sudden exhale and nodded, a tear slipping from her eye.

"He's a Jane. This is going to be trouble."

He kissed her lightly.

"There's a reason you keep me around. Jane Trouble is the best kind there is."

"Never a dull moment."

Baby Daniel squirmed in her arms so she let him separate from her and made a happy face in response to his continued grin.

"Oh, yes, Danny boy, you're immensely proud of yourself, aren't you?"

Reza laughed and repeated, "He's a Jane. This is going to be trouble."

Patrick laughed as well and tousled his son's blond, curly hair. "Your training begins at oh-six-hundred tomorrow, Daniel Thomas Jane. Have your three-piece pajama set pressed and ready."

The boy's green eyes sparkled, seeming to convey the message _Heaven help Mommy… but first, a nap on the sofa._

* * *

**_Author's note: I chose Daniel because the original Mentalist pilot script had the Jane character listed as Daniel Jane, not Patrick Jane. Good choice, although Patrick is better._**

* * *

**_Thank you all for reading. I hope this adventurous Life with Lisbon has been as enjoyable for you to read as it was for me to write._**

**_Peace._**

**_Sue Shay_**


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